Secrets
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl, ZA/AU Oneshot turned multi-chapter. Post Season 2/Pre Season 3. Daryl couldn't help but to notice her. She held his attention, even though he didn't dare to tell her. He only wish he'd been observant enough to notice everything about her.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: So this is just a little one shot/fic thing that was in response to a Tumblr request. **

**I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Rick's hand hovered somewhat over Carol's bowl. His eyes said everything that his mouth didn't say. She'd taken a larger helping than usual—a larger helping, perhaps, than would be allowed to anyone when they were down to eating a few squirrels stewed up with some beans.

The helping she took barely qualified as a meal, but it was still too much when there were children to be fed.

She didn't complain, though. She simply sat back and held her hands out as if to say that he was free to take the bowl. He did take it, and he scraped some of the contents into the plastic bowl that would then make its way down the line to those who really needed it. He deposited the paltry amount of food that was left in front of Carol.

"Thank you," he said. "Sorry," he offered as an afterthought.

"Don't worry about it," Carol said.

"It's just..." Rick said.

"I know," Carol said. "It's fine, Rick. Lori needs it. Really—don't worry about it."

"If it were..."

"It's fine," Carol repeated once more. This time she said it sharply enough that Rick took that as permission to move on with his job of practically circling their camp looking to see if anyone looked like they had more than their share.

They'd been run off the farm—a place where they'd found some safety—by a Walker herd. Just before they'd been run off, they'd lost Carol's daughter—or rather they'd discovered that she'd been lost to them for a while. The night they lost the farm, they'd also lost two of the group members that had been with them since they'd left the rock quarry outside of Atlanta. Shane and Andrea had both simply been gone in one chaotic night.

Now they were on the road and they were hoping to stumble upon somewhere that might offer them long term safety. Their group had proven good at losing people, but it seemed that they might actually gain one person before too much time had passed.

Rick's wife, Lori, was expecting a baby.

Daryl wasn't a fan of Lori, per se, but he liked children. He liked babies in particular. They were innocent. They meant no harm to anyone. They were too new to the world to be fucked up by their parents or any other shit that society might sling at them. Babies meant hope, and all of them could use a little hope right now, even if it was Lori that was the mother of the hope they all shared.

Daryl worried, too, about the little thing. Babies needed things to grow. They needed proper nutrition, rest, and care. Before they were born, the only way they had to get that was to take it from their mothers. Daryl's understanding of babies and their needs—which was truly limited at best—was the only reason that he tolerated all of Lori's bitching and moaning.

They didn't have anywhere comfortable to sleep—so she got the best beds and blankets they could find. It would start to get cold soon because it was already chilly at night, so while they all made do with the least of the sweaters and jackets they could find, she got everything they had to offer to keep her warm and dry so she wouldn't get sick. She was always thirsty because the baby needed water, which meant that they rationed and did without to make sure she got plenty. The baby needed food so she ate even if the rest of them couldn't. She had to be protected, and she could hardly protect herself in her condition, so they circled around her at all times to protect her.

And what she didn't need or take, her son—young and somewhat annoying to Daryl but a kid nonetheless—took for his survival.

They were going to have to find something soon, though, for the survival of all of them. They could keep travelling for a while—sleeping in a store one night, an abandoned house the night after, and a barn the night after—but eventually they were going to need to settle down. They were going to need to find a steady supply of food and water, and they were going to need somewhere to stay warm and sheltered for the winter.

If they didn't, they wouldn't survive. And then Lori and her children, by default, wouldn't survive either despite the whole group's sacrifices and good intentions.

Daryl watched Carol eating from the plastic bowl that held what remained of her meal. She ate delicately and slowly. She savored every single bit.

She'd lost her husband at the rock quarry in Atlanta—an abusive asshole that was no great loss to her or the group. She'd changed a lot since he'd been gone, but it was probably because she could breathe a little. Daryl understood, in his own way, what it felt to have some of the weight lifted off your shoulders of an overbearing asshole or two. Carol had also lost her daughter, though, and that hadn't been an easy or fortuitous lost. Still, she was handling it pretty well, all things considered.

She didn't complain—not that anybody would have listened to her anyway—and she only cried at night when she was mostly alone. As time went on, too, she spent less and less time crying.

Daryl knew because he tried to stay close to her.

He told himself that he stayed close to her because he understood her. He understood what it was like to live under the thumb of an abusive asshole, and most people in their group didn't. He stayed close to her because he worried about her having lost her daughter. He'd searched tirelessly for her kid before the missing child's status got officially changed to deceased. He told himself that he stayed close to her because there was nobody in the group that was looking out for her, just like there was nobody in the group that was looking out for him. But she looked out for him. She helped him. Cared about him. Did little things that let him know it. So he looked out for her.

And maybe, even though he hadn't fully admitted it to himself, he stayed close to her because he wished that he had the guts to care for her more—to admit to her that he thought she was beautiful, he respected who she was and who she wanted to become, and that he wanted to know her better. He wanted to know her much, much better.

It would have sounded ridiculous to her to say it, so he wouldn't, but he thought that she was the kind of woman that he could love if she could ever see fit to love him—and something in his gut made him think that she might.

But for now, until he could bring himself to say anything, he would simply give her what he could from something of a distance.

Daryl reached over and bumped the top of Carol's arm with his own bowl. She looked at him and raised an eyebrow at him.

"I'm done," he said. "Here."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You are not," she said. "Eat your food."

"For real," he insisted. "I'm full."

"Nobody's been full in—two months," Carol said.

"It don't sit right," Daryl said. "Here."

"Well which is it, Daryl? Are you full or doesn't it sit right?" Carol teased.

"Eat it," Daryl said, pushing it at her again.

"Eat your own food, Daryl," Carol said. "It's not going to do anybody any good if you get sick." She lowered her voice. "If it weren't for you—we wouldn't have had those squirrels and we would've been eating dirty water for the last two meals. Eat your food. I've had plenty."

Daryl didn't want to eat his food. He didn't want to accept that as the final word on the matter. However, he could tell that she wasn't going to hear anything else about it. It was easy to tell the moment that Carol had heard all she would.

So he finished his meal and decided to simply do his best to make sure that whatever he got for them when he went hunting tomorrow had a little more meat to offer around.

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"Now that's what I'm talking about," T-Dog announced as soon as they bunched into the living room of the farmhouse.

It felt like they'd been wandering for weeks since the last time that they'd found an actual house that they could call "home" for a night. Most of the houses that they encountered were impossible to protect against Walkers. This one had fences that, though they wouldn't hold against a sizeable herd, would withstand a few passing Walkers wandering in the night. Many of the houses they'd come across had simply burned down. For whatever reason, it seemed that a good bit of the area had caught fire. Maybe generators had shorted out or something of the sort. As a result, they'd lost a lot of potential shelter.

This house had been easy to clear, though, because it had only offered them a couple of Walkers that had probably once called it home. It had fences, and it was intact. It would be perfect for a night or two.

Rick walked through the house before returning to where they were all bunched together.

"It's clear," he said. "We can bring the stuff in. There are three bedrooms. Lori, Carl, and I will take one. The rest of you can figure out how you want to divide the rest. Each room can sleep two in the bed—three if you get really crowded in."

"Hershel and Beth," Daryl said. "Why don't y'all take that other room?"

"We'll all three take it," Hershel said, gesturing toward his oldest daughter, Maggie, as well. "There'll be enough room and we could all use a good night's sleep."

The rest of them looked between themselves.

"Carol," Glenn offered. "Ladies first."

Carol shook her head.

"I'm just as comfortable on the couch or—even the floor," Carol said. "You look like you could use some sleep. Take the bed."

"You sure?" Daryl asked, interjecting for Glenn.

"Sometimes—a harder surface is better for my back," Carol said.

Daryl accepted the explanation. Slowly, and in the few moments of private time that he'd stolen with her when they kept watch or happened to share a hayloft, he'd learned that her body had clearly suffered a great deal of injury at the hands of her now-dead husband. She would pay for the dead man's anger and mistreatment for the rest of her life. If a harder surface made her back feel better, he wasn't going to make her argue her case.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "We'll make pallets. They'll be as good as any bed."

"At least it won't be cold," Carol offered. "With walls to keep the wind off."

"We're sharing the bed," T-Dog said to Glenn.

"That's a little weird," Glenn offered.

"Then I'll make you pancakes in the morning and it won't be as weird," T-Dog said with a laugh. "But that mattress is half mine tonight."

Carol laughed and Daryl laughed to himself. Glenn wouldn't win, but at least he'd get half the bed.

"Let's bring the stuff in," Daryl offered. "Then we can get some rest. I'll keep first watch tonight."

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Daryl sat with his back against the open front door and looked out into the darkness. They dared only to have a small camping lamp burning on the floor because they didn't want the light to draw Walkers to the fences and test the strength of the rickety things.

Daryl couldn't see much, but at least he could alert the others if Walkers were actually able to make it through the fences. They would have enough time to have weapons in hand.

Keeping watch, though, was a fairly non-strenuous job. He smoked a cigarette, flicking the ashes into a peanut can that he'd found—he'd emptied the last handful of contents by sharing them with Carol—and waited until it was either time to trade off with someone else or it was time to go because Walkers had infiltrated their temporary safe zone.

"You oughta get some sleep," Daryl said.

"I could take watch," Carol offered.

Everyone else had gone to bed and Carol was somewhat awkwardly sitting in a chair nearby like she didn't know how to proceed now that the two of them were sharing the small living room.

"I got it," Daryl said. "I'll wake you up if I need you. Get some sleep."

Carol sighed.

"I can't sleep in all this," she said. "It's warm in here."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"So strip down," he said. "I don't care."

That wasn't entirely true. The thought of her stripping out of anything made his stomach flutter and other parts of his anatomy twitch at the thought.

But he didn't want to tell her that.

He shrugged and put his cigarette back to his mouth, peering out at the darkness beyond the wooden porch.

"Ain't like we ain't shared a space before," Daryl said.

"Well it was different then," Carol said. Daryl noted a bit of bite to her tone. He wasn't sure why it was different, but he got the feeling that she didn't want to discuss it with him.

"Suit yourself," he said. "But I ain't lookin' if you scared I'ma—see your underwear or whatever."

It was nearly impossible to act like he didn't care. It made his mouth dry to think of her in her underwear. He'd stolen a few glances at her along the way—once or twice while she was changing or bathing in a creek nearby while he kept an eye out for Walkers—but that had been secret and she'd probably be pissed to know he'd peeked. It had been a while, though, since she'd even chanced it. She'd been keeping to herself lately, and with the weather cooling off, they had done more bucket and rag baths than open-air bathing.

Carol seemed to trust that he wasn't looking.

"I'll take the pallet," she said.

"You'll take the couch," Daryl said. "I checked it. Ain't too soft, but it's better'n the hard floor. I won't argue. You lay down on that pallet an' I'll just move you the next time I get up."

Carol laughed to herself. She walked something of a circle like she was still uncomfortable with the whole arrangement, and then she started to peel out of some of the extra layers. It wasn't easy to come by good winter clothes—most people had been carrying summer clothes when they'd made a run for what they'd thought was temporary shelter against some kind of strange virus outbreak—and the good winter stuff they found got doled out to everyone else first. As a result, Carol simply layered up a great deal of other clothes to create something relatively warm and flexible. Her bundled attire suggested, and it was much the truth, that she'd been homeless for quite some time.

Slowly she worked her way through the layers that she was wearing, tossing them onto the abandoned chair as she went. Daryl meant to keep his promise to look out the door and give her complete privacy, but his eyes wandered as they were sometimes wont to do when she was around.

When she had stripped down to the thin long-sleeved shirt and thin stretch pants that she wore under everything, she peeled back the blanket on the couch that Daryl had made up as a bed.

It was then, watching her move around with her body silhouetted by the light, that Daryl noticed what he was surprised he hadn't noticed before.

He coughed to cover the sound of surprise that he made as Carol sat down on the couch, not yet settling in to lie down.

"Uh—Carol?" Daryl said. He lit another cigarette for himself to occupy his hands. He always thought better with his hands occupied.

"Hmmm?" She hummed at him.

"Not to—invade your privacy or nothin'," Daryl said. "Because I weren't really lookin' but I just kinda looked—like you look when you see somethin' out the corner of your eye..."

Carol sighed.

"What is it?" She asked.

"I don't know no delicate way of sayin' this," Daryl said.

"So just say it," Carol said.

"You—puttin' on weight?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed from the couch.

"You shouldn't ask a woman about her weight," Carol said. "We're sensitive about it."

"I swear I wouldn't," Daryl said. "But that handful of peanuts you eat tonight was about the most I seen you eat at once since—since the farm. And that's only 'cause Rick didn't know we found 'em or he'da took three fourths of 'em like taxes."

"Lori's underweight," Carol said. "She needs the calories."

She started to settle into the bed that Daryl had made on the couch. The pillow's location left her facing him. She tucked an arm under the side of her face and hugged the pillow to her face—he'd given her the nicest one that the two of them had been given. She lie on her side.

It wasn't as noticeable now that she was lying down under a blanket, but Daryl's gut told him he hadn't been wrong.

"You didn't say you was needin' the calories too," Daryl said.

"I don't," Carol said. "You just said—I'm gaining weight."

Daryl hummed at her.

"Couldn't help but notice—it's all concentrated to one particular area."

"It's that way for some women," Carol said. She yawned.

"I don't appreciate you treatin' me like I'm stupid," Daryl said. "I'm not."

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Concentrated to one area—'cause that's where the hell it's set to grow. Would be pretty hard for it grow all over."

"Can we stop talking about my weight, please?" Carol asked. "I thought—I was supposed to be going to sleep."

"I'ma let'cha go to sleep. Ain't wakin' you up for watch no more, neither. Just—want you to answer me one question."

Carol sighed.

"Go ahead," she ceded.

"How long you had that? How long you been hiding it?"

"That's two questions," Carol pointed out.

"Same damn difference," Daryl growled. "I'm serious. I want to know."

"Since Atlanta, I guess," Carol said.

"When the hell'd you know about it?" Daryl asked. "'Cause you ain't just figured it out today."

Carol hummed in thought.

"Since—the farm? Just after."

"And you ain't said nothin'?" Daryl asked.

"What was there to say?" Carol asked.

Daryl growled to himself.

"What about—I'm fuckin' pregnant? You coulda started with that."

"Why would it matter?"

"Baby needs things," Daryl said. "You need things. Make sure it gets here OK."

"It's either going to get here or it's not," Carol said. "I've seen enough to know that—no amount of planning or...or praying...is going to make things happen like you want them to happen. They're just—going to happen and you have to deal with that."

Daryl's stomach twisted. She'd lost her daughter. She'd lost her daughter and, for the most part, they'd simply asked her to deal with that. They hadn't even known that she'd been dealing with that while also dealing with the fact that she was expecting a baby.

And the baby couldn't help its father had been an asshole any more than Carol could help that the husband she'd trusted to love her had turned out to be someone much more interested in dominating and hurting her. It was still a baby, and it still meant that there was some hope for the future.

Daryl was sorry that he hadn't paid enough attention to notice it before. But Carol had never said anything. Unlike Lori, she didn't complain about the food they were served and how it unsettled her stomach before turning around and complaining that there wasn't enough. She didn't complain about the quality of the drinking water. She didn't complain about the weather or the threats that were at their throats and at their backs constantly. She didn't complain about carrying the weight of supplies when they moved it around.

She was simply going on like the rest of them, never letting them know what she was hiding. And Daryl was sorry that he hadn't paid her enough attention to see it for himself before tonight.

"You want it or you don't?" Daryl asked. "Just—answer me that."

"Of course I want it," Carol said. "But—what I want doesn't matter very much."

"Does now," Daryl said. "At least—far as I got somethin' to say about it."

"Don't worry about it, Daryl," Carol said.

"An' you don't tell me what the hell I worry about an' what I don't," Daryl responded with just enough bite to stop her from coming back at him again with that same line of thought. "I just wish you woulda said somethin'. So things coulda been different."

"Things wouldn't have been different," Carol said. "And it doesn't matter. Rick's in charge, remember? And everyone takes care of Lori."

Daryl leaned his head back against the door.

"Not now they don't," he said.

"What?" Carol asked.

"I said not now they don't," Daryl said. "Everyone else can take care of Lori, but that's enough. At least me—I'ma take care of you."

His stomach twisted at the fact that his mouth had dared to say the words that his brain had thought—in one capacity or another—for some time.

"Daryl," Carol said softly, but he didn't let her finish. She didn't sound angry or offended, she simply sounded like she was about to tell him how she wasn't as important as Lori—and he didn't want to hear that. To him, she was every bit as important as Lori. To him, she was more important.

And one day he'd find the guts to tell her that.

For now, though, he had said what he could.

"Don't argue with me," Daryl said. "It won't do no good. I've said what I'ma say. Things are changin' around here—even if it's just me that's changin' 'em."

Carol was quiet for a long moment. Daryl almost thought she'd fallen asleep. He was surprised to hear her speak.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For everything."

Daryl swallowed.

"Go to sleep," he said. "You need the rest. Both of you do. Don't worry about nothin'. I'll keep watch."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: I feel like maybe this should come with some sort of apology. It ran away with me. LOL**

**Anyone who wants to consider the first chapter a one shot and nothing more, please feel free to do that. Anyone who likes this extension to it, I'm glad you do! I will admit that we have a different Daryl here than we saw in the earlier seasons, but it's the Daryl I felt like we might have seen with the right motivations. **

**At any rate, I enjoyed writing this chapter, so I hope you'll enjoy reading it! Let me know what you think! **

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Luckily some of their travelling companions were good at following instructions.

Daryl kept watch most of the night—not that there was much to keep watch over because everything around them seemed still and calm for the time being—and then he'd ventured out to walk the fences and check for Walkers. The fences around the old house held pretty well, and Daryl could imagine that they could even take a bit of a beating if Walkers were to come. The posts were set well.

But there weren't any Walkers that Daryl could see. They were out there, of course, but they weren't close.

With hours to go before the dawn, Daryl had woken Glenn and asked him to pick up a night shift of keeping watch. He'd asked him, too, to let Carol sleep as long as possible before she got up to start a small fire for cooking. He'd assured Glenn that the fire wouldn't draw too many Walkers, and what it did draw, they could handle before they made it through the fences.

And then he'd taken his crossbow and he'd set out to wooded area not too far beyond the house.

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Daryl thanked the raccoon he shot for his sacrifice, and assured the furry asshole that he didn't die in vain. There were people who hadn't had a decent meal in months—some of which barely had much more than those months of existence under their belts.

He skinned, cleaned, and cut up the raccoon before the sun came up. By the time that Carol was building the fire he'd told her to build for cooking something for breakfast, Daryl was ready to put the meat on the makeshift grill they carried with them made out of an old grill's grates and large rocks that held the grates just above the average small fire.

By the time everyone was drawn from their beds by the smell of the food or the good common sense that morning had started, Daryl was already selecting the best pieces of the meat—cooked almost to perfection as far as raccoon went—and piling them into the plastic bowl that he passed to Carol. Maybe raccoon and oatmeal wasn't a traditional breakfast, but it would fill bellies as good as anything, and that was Daryl's main concern.

Daryl served himself some meat on top of the oatmeal that he scooped out of the pot that Carol had set to boil on another small fire, and he sat down in the grass beside her. Everyone else who was coming out went through the same steps they always did. They took a bowl from those that were stacked up—which Carol would wash while they were packing up things to keep moving, so that they would be ready for the next meal—and they took utensils if they were necessary. Then they served themselves what they thought, judging by what was on offer, would be an acceptable amount of food.

They already knew that, if they judged incorrectly, Rick would be around to make sure that things were balanced just a bit differently.

The extra meat was something everyone seemed happy to see, and Daryl was happy that he'd managed to catch the raccoon in his sights. He didn't like to admit it, but he was a pretty firm believer that things sometimes worked out the way they did because of karma—what you put out, you get back. It wasn't always the case, and sometimes life was just shit, but when something good happened, it gave him a bit of an uplifted feeling that maybe the whole karma deal was right. Maybe life wasn't always just shit. Maybe, one day, all of them that had waded through the shit that other people's bad karma had brought down on them would get what they deserved.

And maybe he found the raccoon because Carol deserved at least one good, hot meal to fill her belly for the first time in months.

"It's too much," Carol whispered, leaning over Daryl. He couldn't help but notice that she'd already swallowed down several large mouthfuls like she was starving—and she probably was.

"Eat it," Daryl said.

"At least take some," Carol said. "You've hardly got any and I've got—half the meat."

"Eat it," Daryl repeated. "You the one that's needin' it. I'ma be fine."

Carol frowned at him, but she accepted his urging to eat. Daryl speared another chunk of the raccoon from his own bowl with his hunting knife—his preferred tool from removing the meat from the heat of the grill in the first place—and flicked it into Carol's bowl. She opened her mouth to protest, but instead simply thanked him when he shook his head at her.

Daryl kept an eye on the rest of the group, all sitting down with their breakfasts in various parts of the yard outside the farmhouse, and he noticed when Rick started making is telltale circles around the group.

Carol saw him, too, when he noticed her overflowing bowl of food and Daryl saw her visibly tense and stop chewing.

The act itself—one that practically made him smell her fear—made Daryl's gut tense. He felt the tension spreading to every muscle in his body. Carol's tension was brought on by something akin to fear. Daryl's was brought on by something very different.

As Rick approached, hand already out to make a request for the bowl, Daryl raised up the hunting knife he'd kept resting on his lap.

"Don't'cha touch that bowl, Rick," Daryl said, keeping his voice as steady as he could.

"Daryl..." Carol said.

Rick looked at him.

"Are you threatening me?" Rick asked, furrowing his brow at Daryl the same way he might if Daryl had been his lap dog and had growled at him over a morsel of meat.

It was all fine and good. Daryl knew that even lapdogs bit when they felt they had no other choice. Maybe Rick knew that, too.

"There's plenty of food," Daryl said.

"The meat's almost gone, and protein is important. It needs to be shared," Rick said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Them that gets outta bed gets the best breakfast," Daryl said. "Ain't you never heard the early bird gets the worm? You got the best of the beds—we got the best of the breakfast."

Rick couldn't have looked at Daryl any more oddly if he'd sprouted a second head and tentacles. He was used to Daryl being obedient—going along with whatever he said. He was used to Daryl being a good beta.

And Daryl was a good beta. It was something he'd been taught to be since he could remember. Honestly, it suited him just fine to go along behind someone and follow their lead—assuming, of course, that he either couldn't best them if the need called for it, or he agreed with where they were leading him. At the moment, he neither agreed with Rick nor viewed him as an opponent that he couldn't best if the need should arise.

So he held his challenge by neither lowering the knife nor diverting his eyes away from Rick's.

"Are you threatening me, Daryl?" Rick asked again. He tipped his head to the side almost like a German Shepherd that couldn't make heads or tails of something as simple as a plate glass door.

"No," Daryl said. He shook his head. "I'm not threatenin' you. Tellin' you there's more'n enough food over there. Tellin' you that—you can have all you want outta what's over there, but there ain't none up for the having over here. But I ain't threatenin' you, Rick."

"We agreed that we would all work to make things fair," Rick said.

"And we are," Daryl said. "This here's your group. You told us that. Remember? There weren't no debate about it—it's your group. You told us we do what'cha tell us to do 'cause it's your group an' you the one that's—hell, gettin' us wherever the hell we goin'. But you forget we're all independent thinkers. And your group ain't what it's cracked up to be if you go losin' each of us. Now—this is your group, but that's my raccoon. I hunted it. I cleaned it. Carol built that fire and Carol cooked it. Now—I didn't sleep not a minute and a half last night, Rick, so I'm not feelin' up to discussion."

Rick set his jaw. He didn't appreciate Daryl's words and, without having slept the night before, Daryl almost found that humorous.

"You think I haven't seen the way you look at me?" Rick asked. "The way you all look at me?"

"I think you ain't seen much of nothin' lately that don't concern you," Daryl said. "Maybe none of us have. We been missin' a lot. A whole lot that's right under our noses."

"Daryl..." Carol offered quietly. She must have known by now that she wasn't going to stop the discussion that was taking place because there was very little force behind her words. Calling his name was simply some small attempt to keep him grounded. What she didn't realize was that he was completely grounded. He'd wasn't going into this hot-headed. He'd had plenty of time to think about it while he'd spent the night keeping watch over her as much as he kept watch over the yard. He'd had plenty of time to think about it while he'd been hunting something with the sole intention of filling her belly—more than it seemed nature had already filled it—and to hell with anyone who tried to stop him.

"Eat your breakfast, Carol," Daryl said.

"I have plenty here..." Carol offered.

"And that was the whole idea behind it," Daryl said. "We're tired of starvin' to death."

"There isn't much food," Rick said. "We agreed that we would make sure that those who needed it most got what they could."

"And if you opened your eyes," Daryl said, "then you might see that's what I'm doing. You an' yours ain't the only ones that's got needs."

"Daryl," Carol offered again.

"You know what happened with Shane," Rick said. "By now—everybody knows."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah," he said. "We know what happened with Shane."

Rick ignored all of the possible meanings to Daryl's words. Daryl got to his feet. He was starting to feel tired of having Rick physically standing over him. When he was on his feet, it was a reminder to Rick that he wasn't a child.

"All of that could have been avoided," Rick said, "but—he wanted to control the group. Control all of us. He wanted to lead us all in a direction that wouldn't have been good for us. It wouldn't have been good for any of us—not if we want to survive. Not if we want to keep our humanity and keep who are."

"That's what got him killed?" Daryl asked. Rick nodded his head. "You sure, Rick?"

Rick diverted his eyes, but he nodded his head. Daryl nodded in response.

"Now's it you who's threatenin' me?" Daryl asked.

"Are you telling me I have to?" Rick asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"No, you don't," he said. He sheathed his knife and walked past Rick into the house. Inside, it didn't take long to gather what supplies belonged to Carol and what supplies belonged to him. He rolled their blankets, tied them to their packs and gathered everything up. He carried it out the farmhouse and across the yard to where they'd parked their vehicles along the road and just outside the fences.

His truck had his brother's bike on the back. Carol's car was one that Rick and Lori were driving, but Daryl was almost certain she had no real affinity for the vehicle—and there would be other cars that were more reliable than the Cherokee. Daryl tossed their things into the back of the truck.

"What are you doing, Daryl?" Rick asked. He was coming across the yard. Carol was a few steps behind him. She was carrying the bowl of food that she hadn't actually finished eating because of the excitement surrounding the meal.

A few steps behind her were their other group members—all of which were coming, it seemed, to watch the show and, perhaps, to choose sides.

"Calm down, Daryl," Rick said, holding his hands out to Daryl as soon as he walked through the gate that Daryl left open. "We can talk about this. Let's just—talk about this brother."

"You ain't my brother," Daryl offered. "My brother was prob'ly dead a long time ago. Got handcuffed to a roof—remember? Don't try your cop bullshit on me. It don't work. I been talkin' to cops my whole life. Or did you forget where I come from? I see it when you look at me—you ain't forgot."

"Daryl..." Rick said, this time dragging his name out like he was about to try to talk him down off some proverbial ledge. Daryl shook his head at him.

"You think this group can't survive without you?" Daryl asked. "You think—we couldn'ta made it this far without you? You think we couldn't at least be starvin' half to death in some farmhouse if it weren't for you? You must really think we're some incapable dumbasses, Rick. What have you really done that none of us couldn't do? The way I see it? We been draggin' your ass around. Savin' you. Keepin' you going. It ain't been the other way around. But if you're better off without me? Then I know I'm better off without you. Carol an' me? We can do just as good as we're doin' now if not better."

Rick laughed to himself.

"You can't just decide you're going to take Carol and leave," Rick said. "You can't just pick people to take. Like you said, she's an independent thinker."

Daryl nodded his head.

He looked at Carol. She was looking at him. He could see her chest heaving. She was nervous, but she was swallowing it down. He let his eyes drift down to the belly he'd seen clearly the night before—she'd done her best to hide it under layers and bunches of ill-fitting clothes.

"He's right," Daryl said. "You're an independent thinker. I'll keep your secrets—if that's what you want me to do. All of 'em. But—I won't make your decisions for you." He walked around and fished her pack out of the back of the truck. He offered it in her direction. "You decide. You stayin' with them, or you comin' with me?"

"What are you talking about, secrets?" Rick asked. But neither Carol nor Daryl offered him a response.

Carol glanced at Rick and then she looked at Daryl.

"I'd just be a burden out there—on you," she insisted.

Daryl shook his head at her and opened the truck door.

"You stayin' or you goin'?" He asked.

Carol considered it only a fraction of a moment and, if anything, she seemed like she was mostly wondering if Daryl was sincere in not thinking that she was a burden. Then she handed the bowl of food to Rick.

"Good luck to all of you," Carol said. "I hope—you find what you're looking for. Give this to Lori."

Daryl laughed to himself. He tossed her bag back into the back of the truck.

"Good call," he said. "I'll get'cha somethin' at the next stop. Anyone who wants to come? We ain't drivin' too fast—you'll catch up if you just follow the road."

Daryl walked around and got in the truck. He cranked it—aware that there was some discussion and some movement outside the vehicle. Whatever they decided was on them. He would welcome whoever wanted to come along, but he was just as satisfied to leave them behind.

Daryl pulled the truck onto the road and Carol sat quietly beside him as he drove. He rolled down the window, lit a cigarette, and tapped out a nervous beat on the steering wheel with the fingers of his hand that was loosely steering the car on the abandoned road.

"I don't want to be a burden to you," Carol said.

"You won't be," Daryl said. "If anybody's been a burden—it weren't you."

"You didn't have to leave the group," Carol said.

"I did," Daryl assured her.

"I hate that you left because of me," Carol said.

"Weren't because of you. Been a long time comin'," Daryl said. "Never meant to stay this long."

"Why did you?" Carol asked.

Daryl glanced at her. He couldn't tell her that she was the main reason that he'd stayed. He couldn't tell her that he'd thought about leaving the group a half a dozen times before, but he couldn't imagine just up and leaving her behind and at the mercy of Rick's sometimes spotty benevolence.

Maybe he didn't have to. Her expression changed. Maybe there was even a hint of a smile on her face. She sighed and settled into the seat a bit more.

"How long you think we got?" Daryl asked. "'Til it—uh—'til you..."

He gestured toward her belly—the secret he knew she was hiding beneath her rag-lady clothing.

Carol hummed.

"A few months," Carol said. "Maybe four? If everything goes well."

"It'll go well," Daryl said. "Four months—we got time to get—well, to get where the hell we goin'."

Carol looked at him a little nervously. Still, he knew she trusted him. She had to or she'd have never left the comfort of the group behind to follow him blindly.

Trust him or not, though, this was certainly a case of the blind leading the blind. Daryl fully believed what he'd said to Rick, though. They were at least as capable of surviving on their own as they had been with Rick as their leader. That much Daryl knew was true.

"Where are we going?" Carol asked. "Do you know?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"We're goin' where we're goin'," Daryl said. "You got your secrets—I got mine."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: OK, you all win! I'm opening this up and taking off the complete tag. Thank you so much for your feedback and support! I'm flattered that you like it so far! I hope you continue to enjoy! **

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Daryl wasn't open about his prayers. He wasn't a devout Christian that sat in church every Sunday morning and tried to tell others how to live their lives, and he'd never particularly cared for that behavior in others. He didn't walk around reminding everyone that, in the proverbial times of trouble, Mother Mary would listen to their requests.

But he did pray. And he did believe. Even if he wasn't sure if he believed the way that others believed, he did believe that they couldn't be alone—entirely alone—in the universe.

And it brought him some comfort, so even though he kept it for himself, he prayed when he needed that comfort and that hope that someone, somewhere, might listen.

It had been a while since he'd prayed, though. The last time he'd engaged in a running string of thoughts—which ultimately were what his prayers were comprised of—had been when he'd been searching for Carol's daughter. The little girl had gone missing—chased away by Walkers when nobody could reach her and Rick had gone after her to save her. Except Rick hadn't saved her.

That hadn't been the first time that Daryl had questioned Rick's ability to be their so-called leader, but it had certainly been one of the times when he'd most strongly felt an adverse reaction to the man in his gut.

There was no reason to leave a child alone in the woods these days.

And if there ever was such a reason that Daryl found he had no other choice, he was certain that he wouldn't return back to that child's mother with air left in his body.

It wouldn't even have to be his kid. Daryl knew that. He wanted to throttle Rick's kid just about once a day since he'd met him, but still he would have protected him until he couldn't protect him anymore because he was just that—a kid. Daryl understood that kids needed to be cared for. They needed to be protected. A lot of assholes in the world didn't know that or didn't believe that, so maybe that was what made Daryl believe it all the more strongly.

The next time Carol had seen her daughter, she'd been one of those creatures. And Daryl had realized that all his prayers about the safe return of the girl and all his prayers about finding her alive somewhere had been prayers that hadn't been answered because they couldn't be answered. She'd died where Rick had left her. She'd died before Daryl had even had the chance to go after her or to pray for her.

Like any good mother, Carol had been devastated to lose her child.

So Daryl decided, driving slowly down the country road and drumming out the remnants of a song he barely remembered on the steering wheel to calm the buzzing feeling in his body, that he would pray often and early for the little one she carried.

He would pray that they figured this out—whatever they needed to survive this world—for the sake of that little one.

Because, sometimes, he knew his prayers got heard. And, if he was lucky, they got answered, too.

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"Looks good," Daryl said, slowing the truck down to a creep. "Fences. Could be sturdy. Isolated enough there ain't no threat of a whole damn neighborhood of Walkers descendin' down on us for the night. You satisfied?"

Carol leaned around him a little and looked at the house. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It looks as good to me as any," she said. "It'll be dark in a couple of hours, though."

Daryl hummed. He heard her loud and clear because she was thinking exactly what he was thinking. If they wanted to stop anywhere and have time to really settle the place for the night, they didn't have too much longer to be picky in choosing somewhere.

"Settled, then," Daryl said. "We'll stop here for the night. Clear it. Get some food an' talk about—where we goin' tomorrow."

"I thought you knew," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"About the only thing I know for sure is wherever the hell we end up'll be just as good as where we'd end up with Rick snatchin' food out our mouths and clothes off our backs every time we turn around. We'll find somethin', though. Lay up for the winter if nothin' else to keep from freezin' to death. Don't worry."

"Strangely enough," Carol said, "I'm not worried. Not with you."

Daryl swallowed at the odd sensation her nonchalant words stirred up in his gut and his chest respectively. He couldn't say what he was thinking, though. And he got the feeling that she didn't expect him to say anything.

So he simply changed the subject to explain his actions. Carol looked at him with question on her features when he pulled the truck to an absolute stop in the road, just at the point where he would enter the driveway of the farmhouse.

"We'll just wait here a minute," Daryl said.

"Why?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Because there's a truck about a mile back that's been followin' us," Daryl said. "And I don't want him to go on an' miss where we stopped."

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They pulled the two trucks up beside the fences and filed out of the vehicles to get a look around. Like every other house they'd come upon, the yard was overgrown. There were no Walkers immediately around them, though, so they were safe for at least a few moments.

"See you decided to leave," Daryl said.

"After you left, Rick sorta lost his damn mind," T-Dog said. "He told everybody to go if that's what they wanted to do, but he wasn't going to be threatened or manipulated. Basically—he said if we thought we could do better on our own, then that's what the hell we should do." He laughed. "I didn't know how far he was going to go with things, but I didn't want to find out, either."

"Everyone else stayed?" Carol asked. "Or should we be expecting more people?"

"They know what direction we're travelling in," T-Dog said. "I guess they're staying for now. Like I said—I didn't wait around. I got my shit and I took the truck before Rick was even done having a fit. Glenn can ride with the Greene family. I took his stuff out the truck and left it for him."

"Sorry we made the shit hit the fan," Daryl said. "So you had to feel like you needed to leave."

"That shit was a long time coming," T-Dog said. "You leaving was probably the only reason I finally left, though. I mean—I've been thinking we could do fine on our own for a while, now, like you said, but it didn't exactly thrill me to think of being completely by myself. At least, when you left, I knew that—you know—we could do it together."

"You're welcome to join us," Daryl said. "But—I won't be your dictator. This is a group thing. We all put in, we all get out. We take care of each other. We got ideas and input. I don't wanna be some kinda—this ain't no democracy asshole—and I don't wanna work with another one."

T-Dog held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Neither do I!" He assured Daryl. "Listen—I had just about all I can take of hearing every day that everything I do is for someone else's kid. I'm sick of giving up every single meal I eat for some baby that—man, all of us know what was going on at the quarry and it's not like things ever stopped being weird after that. Rick's driving a whole group of people into the ground, and it isn't even his kid. I'm happy to be away from that. They know which way we were headed. If anybody else decides to break loose, they'll find us."

Daryl glanced at Carol. She looked a little uncomfortable, but she was keeping her mouth shut. If T-Dog was going to be with them, then he needed to know Carol's secret. He needed to know what it had been that had finally prompted Daryl to take the steps he should have taken ages ago to leave the group.

But he didn't have to know right away.

First they needed to get settled. There would be time for some difficult conversations later.

"Yeah..." Daryl said, not sure how to respond to everything that T-Dog had said—not that he didn't agree with a great deal of it. "Well—it ain't...it ain't exactly like that no more. Not now, ya know? We all puttin' in and we all gettin' out." Daryl walked over to the fence that surrounded the house. It wasn't the best constructed fence he'd ever seen, but it would do for a day or so. He rested his hand on it and shook it. "Sturdy enough," he said. "Let's clear the house."

The process was almost always the same. Before they entered any house, they beat on doors and windows to draw Walkers out of hiding. Once they'd made a little noise and gave the slow moving creatures the opportunity to seek the source of the noise, Daryl waved to T-Dog and Carol to stand back and he slung the door open. All three of them were armed with knives, and all were prepared for the Walkers that came out the door. As soon as one cleared the door, Daryl grabbed it and pulled it out of the way. He sunk his knife into its skull even as he moved it away from his comrades.

When the second Walker came out the door, close on the heels of the first, it was T-Dog that grabbed the Walker. Finding it not as rotted as some they'd encountered, and stronger than him for the sheer size of the man the Walker had once been, he set about wrestling the creature and lost his knife. He held it steady enough, though, that Carol was able to slam her blade through the Walker's temple before Daryl was able to get in there and help.

The corpse—now still as it was ever meant to be—dropped to the porch floor and Carol immediately went about searching T-Dog's arms for signs of scratches or bites.

"I'm fine," he said. "I'm fine."

"Good work," Daryl said. "Now to see how many of these putrid assholes are still hidin' out."

T-Dog retrieved his dropped knife and the three of them filtered into the house. It was dark because the Walkers—back when they'd been people—that had been shut-in the house, had closed all the blinds and curtains before they'd died. Their small group made their way through the house slowly and methodically, making sure to cover every inch of it. All of them were prepared to encounter Walkers as they pushed open doors, searched closets, and cleared each room.

They didn't find any Walkers, though, and they all three ended up at the kitchen as was their usual practice when clearing a house.

Habits always die hard.

They searched the cabinets and took out all the contents they found to pile them on the table and countertops for inspection. There was a decent amount of food and two flats of bottled water in the storage pantry.

"They were ready for the end of the world," T-Dog commented.

Daryl handed out bottled water to Carol and T-Dog. T-Dog looked at the bottle and laughed to himself.

"You're not even going to check to see if—anybody needs it more?" T-Dog asked.

"We're free people," Daryl said with a laugh. "We drink the water we earn."

"Man, like kings or some shit," T-Dog marveled. "Cheers." He offered his bottle out to Carol and then Daryl. To amuse him, Daryl joined in the toast. "May there be many more bottles of water to come."

"Hear, hear," Daryl said. "Now let's see what we can do about some meat. T—why don't'cha help me get them Walkers outta the fence? We'll put 'em out near the little gate to keep the other Walkers from carin' to come too close. Carol? You can start—figurin' out what we gonna eat. I'ma see if I can't shoot somethin' in that wooded patch over there. At least a couple squirrels. Run a few traps for meat in the morning. I think I saw a grill around the side. See if we can't find a grate that'll work for cookin'. You can check that out, Carol. T? I'ma help Carol get what she needs out the truck an' I'ma get my crossbow. 'Fore we move them Walkers, you think you could go grab some dry wood? So Carol can start buildin' a fire while we're setting up."

T-Dog accepted the suggestion without much of a challenge. He, like Daryl, had always been fairly content with going with the flow. Neither of them felt any strong urge to demand and command. They were both willing to give instructions when they were needed, and they were willing to take them when they were handed out. T-Dog didn't often voice his opinions, but any time he had a suggestion, it usually turned out to be a good one.

Daryl thought he'd be a valuable asset to their little group—if it could be called that.

But he wanted a moment to talk to Carol in private.

Carol followed Daryl as he walked outside and she stepped around the fallen Walkers the same way the rest of them did. She followed Daryl out the small gate and back to the truck where their limited supplies would be waiting. They'd have to gather up the basics again—since most of them had been left with Rick—but Daryl thought this house looked like it had a pretty decent amount of stuff to offer. The people who had lived there hadn't been hoarders, exactly, but they weren't going without, either. It was all the better for their little trio.

As soon as Daryl was sure that T-Dog was out of earshot, He handed Carol her pack and burrowed out his own and his crossbow from the back of the truck.

"We gotta tell him your secret tonight," Daryl said.

"You heard what he said," Carol said.

"I did," Daryl said. "But I also know he was talkin' from a place of anger. He was talkin' from a place of bein' fed the fuck up. If you take it down to the root, he ain't pissed at Lori for bein' pregnant. Hell—he ain't even pissed at Rick for wantin' to take care of her. He's pissed 'cause he's fuckin' starvin' to death an' he ain't heard shit but—gimme your food an' go in there an' see if anything kills you for the last longest. If he's gonna stay with us, he's gotta know. And the sooner, the better. Otherwise he's gonna be thinkin' we don't trust him or was tryin' to trick him or some shit."

Carol frowned at him.

"He's a good person to have around," Carol said.

"All the more reason to make him feel appreciated and trusted," Daryl said.

"What if he leaves?" Carol asked. "What if I'm the one that makes him leave because..."

She stopped talking, but Daryl shook his head at her anyway.

"If he leaves, he leaves," Daryl said. "But—give him a chance. Tell him tonight. After supper. After he's got a belly full and he knows we ain't starvin' nobody out. Give him the chance to surprise you."

Carol nodded her head.

"What do you want for supper?" She asked.

Daryl smiled at her.

"Cook's choice," he said. "I don't know what I'ma get, but you can bet on some squirrels if nothin' else. You decide. You make good choices."

"OK," Carol said softly. She took her bag and Daryl watched her as she went back through the gate. She closed it behind her, like she should. Daryl dropped his bag at the front of the truck and lowered his crossbow to the ground. He rushed forward to help T-Dog with the armful of large sticks he was bringing from the small wooded area. On his way back out the little gate, he'd help T-Dog move the Walkers and then he'd go hunting so that Carol could make them—out of whatever he got—a feast fit for kings, as T-Dog had earlier declared them all to be.

There was a strange lightness in his chest. Tonight felt like their first night of freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: I'm so happy that you seem to be enjoying this! I'm loving all your reactions! **

**I'm back to work and regular life tomorrow, but I'll update when I can.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Two bedrooms," Daryl said. "I'll keep watch. You can each take a bedroom."

"You didn't sleep last night," Carol said. "You have to sleep. I'll take watch."

"I can relieve Carol when she's ready," T-Dog said.

They all sat in a circle on the floor in the living room. The house had a small fireplace, but it also had an axe and a stone for sharpening the axe—both items that Daryl intended to pack into their trucks—so he'd cut some wood that was small enough to fit into the small fireplace and provide them with both light and warmth. Searching the house and yard, Carol had also found some pots that she wanted to lay claim to, a grate off an old grill, and some utensils. T-Dog had found two cement blocks outside for Carol's makeshift cooking surface, so they were practically as prepared at one stop as they had been at the house where they'd slept the night before.

Not to mention, they had full intentions to raid the closest and clear the beds of blankets.

At least they were already living up to Daryl's expectations that they could do as well as they had been doing.

They'd brought the full pot in where Carol had cooked the meal. She'd made good use of the rabbit that Daryl had managed to snag, the three squirrels he'd brought in for good measure, and some assorted noodles and vegetables they gleaned from the pantry. The recipe had likely never graced the pages of any pre-turn cookbook, but it was about the best meal that Daryl could remember having in a while.

The best part, perhaps, was that there was nobody standing around them as they ate to practically count the spoonfuls that they took in. Daryl reached for the ladle that was floating in the pot and fished around. He caught several hunks of meat and some of the vegetables before he drained out a little of the juice. Putting his bowl down on the floor, he reached his other had out toward Carol and waved his fingers at her when she didn't immediately hand him the bowl.

"I have plenty," Carol offered.

Daryl waved his fingers at her again.

"Lil' more ain't gonna hurt'cha," he offered.

She sighed, but she did hand him the bowl. He smiled to himself. He liked being able to win arguments when they mattered to him. He filled her bowl and passed it back to him. He dropped the ladle back in the pot.

T-Dog laughed.

"You ain't gonna fill my bowl for me?" T-Dog asked.

Daryl nodded toward the pot.

"There's plenty there," he said, starting to eat from his own bowl again. "Get what'cha want. Ain't got nobody's name on it."

"But you're serving Carol," T-Dog said. There was nothing really accusatory in his tone. In fact, there was something of a smirk on his lips and some amusement to his tone. Daryl wasn't sure how to answer T-Dog, though, so he simply looked at Carol and then shrugged his shoulders before returning to his own food.

Carol sighed. Her spoon clanked on the side of her bowl as she leaned forward just enough to put the bowl down.

"It's getting warm in here," Carol said.

"That's kind of the idea of the fire," T-Dog said with a laugh. "Feels good. I don't have to wear that itchy ass sweater I found. That thing's starting to stink."

"Maybe we could stay an extra day," Carol said. "If it seems safe. We could go through the clothes. I could wash some things and let them dry?"

One of the greatest things the little house had to offer was an almost secret treasure that Daryl had uncovered on his way back to the house from the wooded area. He'd run some traps and he'd decided to place a few in an overgrown part of the yard where it was likely that rabbits or squirrels might play. While he'd been burrowing around in the weeds and shrubbery, he'd found that the house had a little hand pump that was, apparently, connected to one of the many underground wells or springs that were prevalent in the area. He'd primed it with a little of the bottled water and it worked.

Given that the house had been well stocked with bottled water, Daryl assumed that perhaps the pump water wasn't the best for drinking—though he didn't know why it wouldn't be—but whoever had lived there had clearly considered it fine for the plants and other outdoor activities. The water could be boiled to guarantee it was at least as purified as some of the practical swampwater that they'd drank when practically stagnated puddles had been all they could find. It could also be used for baths or, as Carol had suggested, washing some of the clothing that was long in need of being cleaned.

"Long as it's safe," Daryl said, "nothing happens? I don't see why we can't put in a couple nights here."

"I need to start warming up some water for baths," Carol said. "I think we can get a pot—sort of on that fire."

"Put it straight in there," Daryl said. "It won't hurt it. But the water can wait until—'til after we eat. It ain't like we got a set bedtime around here."

Carol picked up her bowl and returned to eating. Daryl watched her, curious to see if she'd eat a decent amount or if she'd be so trained to stop eating that she simply would—whether or not she had food available to her. She ate well enough, though, Daryl supposed, for someone her size.

T-Dog and Daryl both finished off two helpings of the dinner, and they both praised her cooking skills—something that brought a genuine smile to her face.

T-Dog didn't ask Daryl anything else about why he'd put the food in Carol's bowl, and Daryl didn't offer any information, but he knew that eventually they'd have to tell T-Dog about Carol's little secret. Carol knew it, too. That was probably one of the main reasons that she looked so uncomfortable.

When dinner was done, Daryl carried the pot into the kitchen. They could eat on the stew through the night and the next day. Carol collected up the bowls and utensils and she washed them in a bucket and dumped the dirty water out the door.

Daryl and T-Dog had already filled a few of the plastic gardening buckets they'd found in the shed out back with water and they'd brought it up to the house for bathing. It wouldn't be a luxurious bath for any of them, but a good rag-and-bucket bath was better than no bath at all. Daryl fed their little fire and worked on the best way to warm the water while Carol finished straightening up their living area.

T-Dog found himself a spot in one of the chairs and flipped through a magazine like he might actually read it. Daryl sat down on the floor by the fireplace to keep watch over the hot water and to remove it with a fire poker as soon as he was certain it was hot enough to mix with some of the other water for baths.

When Carol was done touching everything in the living room that she seemed to need to touch, she walked to the center of the room, bent for a moment like she was studying the fire, and then she straightened up. Daryl could practically feel the nervous energy radiating off of her as she turned to face T-Dog.

"It's really getting warm in here," she said.

T-Dog laughed to himself and looked up from his magazine.

"You do have like—sixty layers of clothes on, Carol," he pointed out.

"I do," Carol said. "Maybe I'll just—take something off."

Daryl swallowed down a faint bit of amusement that he felt growing inside him. So this was how she was going to do it. She was going to see if T-Dog might just notice what she was hiding once it was pretty much laid out there in the open for him to see.

Piece by piece, Carol worked her way out of the cumbersome layers of clothing that she was wearing. It seemed like she untied, unwound, and undid thirty articles of clothing as she shucked them off and tossed them across the arm of a wooden chair that looked uncomfortable and hardly good for anything beyond holding her discarded clothes. When she had worked her way down to the bottom layer of clothing—the thin long sleeved shirt and stretch pants that she favored as long underwear and pajamas, she straightened herself up and declared, happily, that she felt much better—and it wasn't nearly as stifling.

The belly that Daryl almost worried he'd imagined for how well she hid it was even more pronounced when Carol was close to him and he felt like he didn't have to try to hide the fact that he was looking at her. More than anything, he was sincerely surprised that she managed to hide it so well with nothing more than a ridiculous amount of clothing to use as camouflage. He supposed, though, that she'd probably spent a decent amount of her life trying to make herself somewhat invisible.

Daryl glanced at T-Dog, who was still at least pretending to read his magazine, and he announced that the water would be ready soon, so T-Dog might want to get a bucket for himself so that he could mix the boiling water with his well water to take off to the bathroom that the house boasted.

T-Dog sprang into action when he was called upon to actually do something and he abandoned his magazine. He got to his feet, poured some water from one of the full buckets into one that had already been emptied, and then straightened up to bring his bucket with him for Daryl to help him pour some of the boiling water into it.

Daryl saw the exact moment when he realized that something about Carol was at least a little different than he'd simply come to expect was true.

"Ummm—Carol?" T-Dog asked.

Carol stood straight, turned to face T-Dog, and offered him a smile. Her expression very nearly made Daryl laugh, so he bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself under control.

"Yes, T-Dog?" Carol asked.

"When did you..." T-Dog started.

"Get that?" Daryl broke in. "Because that's what the hell I asked her last night."

Carol laughed to herself. Daryl could see her shoulders sag forward a little. She was relaxing. T-Dog hadn't fully come to terms with everything, and that much was clear, but at least he hadn't acted negatively.

"I guess—I got this," she said, putting emphasis on the words she borrowed from Daryl, "back in Atlanta. I'm not sure exactly when."

"That's a baby," T-Dog said.

"Good job, man," Daryl said, unable to help himself. "Now—tell me what that is?" He pointed to the pot.

"Asshole," T-Dog said. "I don't understand..."

"Someone was just gonna wait until the damn thing was borned," Daryl said. "Just sorta see if anybody noticed it."

"I wasn't," Carol said.

"What were you gonna do? You sure didn't say nothin' about it."

"What was there to say?" Carol asked. "What good would it have done?"

"It woulda put you on the priority list," T-Dog said.

Daryl felt a little pleased. At least it seemed that T-Dog was concerned about this for the right reasons so far.

"It wouldn'ta, though," Daryl said. "She's right, really. It prob'ly wouldn'ta changed a whole lot. Some way they'da found a way of—of raisin' Lori above Carol. Sayin' Carl was more important, too, because—he was already here. Lori was more important because..."

"Because she was Rick's wife," Carol said. "And I'm not Rick's wife. I'm nobody's wife. And this baby is—well, nobody's mourning its father. Myself included. So I didn't say anything because it didn't matter. Whatever's going to happen is going to happen."

"But we can help things out a little bit," Daryl said. "So—that's why we left this mornin'. I wanted Carol to get what the hell she needs. Somethin' good to eat. Enough to help—to help it grow. That's why I spent the night huntin' down that raccoon. Gettin' it ready for breakfast."

T-Dog laughed to himself.

"That was why you went all gangster and pulled a knife on Rick," T-Dog said. "I have to admit, that kind of made my morning. He'd just come around to collect meat from Glenn and I."

"Like alms from the damn poor," Daryl said.

"I was pissed," T-Dog said. "I would've eaten faster if I'd have known they were just about to wake up."

"So now you see why we had to high tail it outta there," Daryl said. "Shit's been comin' a long time, but this was it. The final straw."

"Yeah—yeah," T-Dog said. He seemed to muse over everything for a long moment. Then he hummed and nodded his head. "I get it," he said.

"I understand if—you don't want to stay with us," Carol said. "I know you're tired of dealing with Lori and—and pregnant women in general. You didn't want to run away to deal with another one."

T-Dog laughed to himself.

"One that I didn't even know was pregnant for—damn—it's been a while that you been hidin' that," T-Dog commented.

"Point is that we ain't gonna make you stay," Daryl said. "You wanna go—you free to go at any time. This ain't some kinda Hotel California shit where you can't never leave."

"But if you want to stay," Carol said, "we'd like to have you. And I promise that I'll do my best not to be a burden on you—or Daryl."

T-Dog looked at Daryl. Daryl couldn't read what was behind the man's expression. T-Dog finally nodded his head.

"That was the best meal I had in a while," T-Dog said. "And I didn't have to fight for a chance at one of the beds. I don't care if you're pregnant. I don't care—I don't care about whatever's going on. It's all cool with me. As long as we keep to what we agreed to. We all put in, we all take out. And we all help each other whenever, you know, whenever any of us needs help. With—anything. Whatever that might end up being."

"Sounds fair to me," Daryl said. "That sound alright to you, Carol?"

She was smiling to herself. Daryl wasn't sure if there might be at least a little dampness in her eyes that was making them sparkle in the firelight the way that they were. She nodded her head.

"It sounds wonderful to me," she said. "T—I checked. There's soap and towels in the bathroom."

T-Dog accepted her response and brought his bucket to Daryl for Daryl to make the transfer of some of the boiling water before he poured more water in the pot to warm for whoever was second to bathe.

Carol walked over to the door and looked out of it. She surveyed the yard, probably looking for Walkers. She leaned back against the door, arms folded across her chest and just above the innocent bump that she could leave open to view for once.

She looked lighter now that T-Dog knew her secret, too. She looked happier as she looked out into the darkness and searched for any signs of movement.

And she looked every bit as beautiful, in the flickering light from the fireplace, as she ever had. But Daryl wouldn't tell her that.

They all had secrets, after all.


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Listen—last thing I wanna do is sound like I'm tryin'a drive everything or like I'ma be some kinda repeat of Rick," Daryl said. "I don't have any idea where we wanna go or where we oughta go. As far as I know, we can go anywhere we want on the whole damn continent and that's a lotta space. Like I said at breakfast, we just about learned that there ain't no government left, so it don't make sense to go lookin' for it or thinkin' that they set up some kinda government oasis for us that we just gonna waltz right into to start livin' the big life. Where we go, in my opinion, is up to us."

"I agree with that," T-Dog said. "And higher populations then means more Walkers now. So it's not a smart move to go toward anywhere we know was too overpopulated before it all went to shit. That's another reason not to go looking for some government handout that's not going to be there—especially when it'll lead us to some capital city overrun with Walkers."

"If we go that way, we're lookin' for trouble," Daryl agreed. "My point, though, is that I don't wanna demand that we go anywhere or do nothin' specific, but—I do have to make sure we're on the same page about a few things if we're all gonna travel together."

"Go ahead," T-Dog urged. There was nothing in his voice nor his expression that said he was worried or offended.

Carol was working on their laundry, as she'd suggested she might if they were to stay there for a days. Daryl and T-Dog were bringing back every fallen limb and downed tree that they could find in the wooded area for fires before they resorted to chopping down anything living. The wood would keep them warm in the house at night, it would provide her fuel for her cooking fires, it would provide them with warm bathwater, but it would also keep Carol from doing laundry by hand in the almost freezing well water that they pumped out of the ground.

"We need somewhere we can stay for the winter," Daryl said. "Where it is—I guess it don't really matter all that much as long as it's safe. We'll need fences. Somewhere we can hope to get a lil' bit of meat stored up ahead of time would be good. Smoke some of it. Stock up on what we need. We don't wanna move around too much once the cold really starts to set in 'cause we don't wanna risk some of them stretches where we can't find nothin'. Don't wanna end up doin' without. And we wanna pick it with enough time to get it set up and make sure it's gonna have what we need before that cold does set in."

"Before the baby comes, too," T-Dog added. Daryl swallowed and nodded.

"Didn't wanna mention it. You know, in case you got a bad taste in your mouth for kids comin' into the world these days," Daryl said.

"The kids haven't done anything," T-Dog responded. "They're not responsible for what their parents do. Besides—I didn't even know Carol was pregnant until last night, and I wouldn't have known it then if she wasn't so..." he stopped and gestured so that Daryl understood, perfectly, what he was trying to say.

"Yeah," he agreed with a laugh. "I know. Kinda obvious. Once you see it, you can't believe you didn't see it. Like—I think I'm pretty observant but..." 

"How long have you known?" T-Dog asked.

"Day longer'n you," Daryl said. "That's all. And it was an accident. She'da kept hidin' it if she could. Just so happened we was sleepin' in that den together an' she didn't wanna try to sleep all bundled up in everything she was usin' for camouflage. I told her I wouldn't look..."

"But you looked," T-Dog said, some amusement slipping across his features as he bent down to pick up a stick and return to the gathering that they were supposed to be doing as they continued to carry wood back to the house.

"Didn't mean to look," Daryl said. "Just—sorta happened. Weren't a lot to look at while I was just sittin' there." T-Dog hummed, but he didn't really say anything and Daryl wasn't entirely certain how to interpret his hum. "Anyway—that's when I found out."

"I shouldn't have said what I said about being sick of pregnant women," T-Dog said. "I didn't mean it. I mean—I meant it, but I didn't mean Carol. Hell, I didn't even know she was pregnant."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You're sick to death of pregnant women that's gotta remind you they pregnant every five minutes in case you forgot. They pregnant so—they get the best of the food, and all of your food. They get the best beds, and every night. They don't take watch ever 'cause they gotta sleep and they don't take no kinda guard 'cause they gotta be careful, and they walk in the middle of the crowd so you get eat first if a Walker comes up. The kind that—gets all the water and don't carry their own shit and...no matter what, you gotta remember, at all times, that they pregnant."

"But when you say it like that, man, it kinda makes me feel like an asshole that I was pissed off at Lori for wanting those things. I mean—aren't those the kind of things that a pregnant woman ought to have? Food, water, rest, protection...?"

Daryl hummed.

"I don't think none of us ever wanted to deny her that," Daryl said. "I don't think we wanted to deny her none of it. I think it was more the way it was done. Like it was expected. Not like it was appreciated. Hell—I'da never let her go hungry if I coulda helped it, but there was a difference in goin' hungry an' always gettin' the most an' the best. I don't want no pregnant woman to starve, but it don't do her no damn good if we all starve to death tryin' to keep her alive."

"You won't get any argument out of me," T-Dog said. "But—I don't think Carol expects us to starve to death." He laughed to himself. "At least I hope not since she's cooking our food."

"She'd rather starve to death herself than ask you for food," Daryl said. "I get pissed every time I think about how much food Rick took out her mouth to feed Lori—Lori's kid—an' we didn't even know he was takin' it right away from Carol's kid when...when she done...ya know...lost a kid."

T-Dog nodded his head. He looked solemn, though, for a moment.

"Look—I know I said what I said about being sick of Lori, but now that I know? I'm not gonna let Carol go hungry. Not if I can help it."

"She ain't gonna go hungry if I can help it," Daryl echoed. "If we can help it. But—she ain't gonna ask for nothin' neither. That's kinda what I wanted to talk to you about. Findin' a place. She ain't gonna say it, but we oughta find some place for the kid to come. For us to hole up durin' the winter."

"Yeah," T-Dog said. "We'll find something."

"Warm, dry, and comfortable," Daryl said. "Safe enough we don't gotta worry constantly. We'll find it, but that's—it's what we're lookin' for."

"What we find is more important than where it is," T-Dog said. Daryl hummed his agreement with T-Dog's words.

"Gotta remember that she won't ask for help outright," Daryl said. "We done seen that with how she didn't even bother to tell nobody that she was pregnant. And she's really not gonna ask us for help now that we've been around Lori all this time and we've gotten worn out by how things were handled there. I won't take food out your mouth or clothes off your back—an' I won't ask you for much more'n a hand to keep us all goin'—but I'm lettin' you know that the extra? What we don't need? I'ma try to keep it goin' in her direction because she won't say when there's a need."

T-Dog laughed to himself.

"I'm not an asshole," T-Dog said. "And—I want it clear that I didn't hate Lori. I didn't begrudge her what she got and I wanted to see her kid make it. Both of them. Hell—we need the kids. They're like a sign that this isn't the end of the world. There's still more to come. I was as upset, too, when that little girl came out of that barn. Sophia was a good kid. A sweet kid. At the rock quarry, she was the kind of kid that would make you think about the fact that—you wouldn't mind having your own someday. Carol got a raw deal losing her daughter that way. And—like I said before—it wasn't Lori's kid that pissed me off or the fact that she needed things. It was the fact that Rick seemed to forget that the rest of us needed things, too."

"And he took away our fuckin' voice," Daryl interjected.

"That, too," T-Dog said. "If I had felt like I was contributing because I wanted to? It's a whole different thing entirely. But as soon as I have to, and I don't have the right to say that, today, I think I'm going to finish eating this? Then I start having a problem."

"So you're sayin' that—you support my plan to try to do what I can to help Carol?"

T-Dog laughed to himself again.

"What I'm saying is that I was going to do the same thing," T-Dog said, "so you don't have to worry about me complaining."

"Thanks," Daryl said.

"No problem, man," T-Dog said.

Daryl went about gathering up more wood in silence while T-Dog worked to do the same. With any luck, Daryl could come back later, after everything had been still for a bit, and find them even more meat for dinner than the leftovers they still had from Carol's stew—a stew that had gotten them all through lunch when the oatmeal they'd found for breakfast left them hungry for something more. They would likely have more than enough wood to get them through the few days that they planned to stay in the little house.

Their intention was to take a few days to rest, clean their clothes, and fill their bellies. They needed an opportunity, after leaving the group, to simply rest and gather themselves. They also wanted to give their former comrades time to find them if there was anyone else who decided to break free from Rick's oppressive control.

When those few days had passed, they would move on. They had no idea where they were going. They had relatively little idea of where they were. They had no map and, even if they had a map, it wouldn't tell them much without a destination in mind. They knew, more or less, what they were looking for, but they were wandering blindly until they happened to stumble upon it.

Of course, maybe it had always been that way. Maybe they were only acutely aware, these days, of the reality they'd actually always been living.

They were looking for a place that was safe, defensible for a good amount of time, and provided them with enough that they could take care of themselves and gather enough provisions to survive the winter—or longer if they decided to stay.

Daryl didn't know where they would find it, exactly, but he was confident that they would find it. They just had to keep looking.

"I got about all I can carry this load," T-Dog said. "Looks like, if we need much more, we're going to have to cut something down."

Daryl jumped. He'd been concentrating on what they'd discussed about the future with enough focus that he'd almost forgotten that he wasn't alone gathering sticks and limbs. He was lucky that there were no Walkers in their surrounding area looking for something to eat, because one of them might have surely snatched him up.

He quietly scolded himself about not paying attention. He should know better than to let himself slip, and that was especially true these days. He felt, whether he had a reason to feel that way or not, that he certainly had a great deal more responsibility than he'd ever had before.

He hummed and did his best to recover quickly so that T-Dog wouldn't notice that he'd practically jumped out of his skin at the interruption to his daydreaming.

"Yeah—yeah—cuttin' down some off these saplings won't be nothing," Daryl said. "Saw a couple dead ones that oughta come down, too. A couple years from now, us thinnin' the trees out a bit'll be the best thing we coulda done for this area."

"Yeah," T-Dog said, but it was clear that he was making the sound simply to have some way to respond to Daryl. "You good? I mean—you got what you can carry? Ready to head back?"

Daryl could probably pick up a stick or two more without dropping the load he was already balancing, but he decided to simply make another trip once they'd dropped these off, refilled a couple of buckets for Carol, and made sure that she didn't need anything else.

He hummed.

"Yeah, I got enough," Daryl said.

"You good?" T-Dog asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Just said I got enough," he said.

"But you good, man?" T-Dog asked.

Daryl furrowed his brow at him, but T-Dog only furrowed his brow back in response. Finally, Daryl nodded.

"I'm good," he said, figuring that he'd been found out. T-Dog knew that he'd been distracted. He probably assumed that Daryl was only running through a list of possible places in his mind where they might head when they finally moved on.

"Good," T-Dog said. He started back toward the house, leading the way, and Daryl followed. They'd only gone about ten steps in silence before T-Dog slowed his steps to walk beside Daryl. He smiled at Daryl—not the same shit-eating grin that Merle used to give him, but a grin in the same family—and laughed to himself. "Don't worry so much, man," T-Dog said. "I'ma help you look out for Carol."

"The hell's that s'posed to mean?" Daryl asked, more in regard to the expression than the words. T-Dog just laughed to himself, double timed his steps on their way to the little house, and left Daryl several feet behind and walking in silence.


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"It's just that—the mountains have that rough terrain," Daryl said. "If we pick a spot that's kinda elevated, even, we could almost guarantee that they ain't gettin' up there or they ain't gettin' up there fast. Maybe it ends up not even bein' worth it to 'em to try. They keep goin' on the smoother ground so they can cover more ground—if that's important to 'em."

Carol smiled to herself and looked out the window of the truck at the passing trees and the start of rolling hills. Their speed was good, but it wasn't too fast. They didn't want to be moving too quickly to respond to some kind of sudden surprise. Hitting a Walker wouldn't be too terrible at slower speeds, but it could cause a lot more trouble for them and the truck at higher speeds.

Carol liked looking at the passing landscape, but mostly she turned her head to hide the expression of amusement from Daryl. She would have done anything not to risk hurting his feelings. He was clearly nervous and he seemed almost terrified that Carol and T-Dog would hold against him the fact that he'd been the one to choose their current destination.

In all honesty, he hadn't chosen their destination as much as he'd simply been the one to present the destination that they all agreed sounded the best.

They had sat together, as a group, to discuss where they might go when they left the little house where they'd holed up for several days to collect themselves and give anyone who might break away from Rick's group the opportunity to locate them. Neither Carol nor T-Dog felt particularly strongly about where they should go or why any course of action was preferable over any other. Whether they went east or west or north or south, it all seemed the same to Carol. T-Dog agreed. When neither of them felt like they knew where they were going or where they might want to go, any way of getting to the unknown destination seemed reasonable.

It had been Daryl who had studied over it for some time and had presented to them the idea that they should head toward the mountains for the protection that the geographical features of the region would offer them.

Daryl's reasoning was sound and nobody had any complaints or better suggestions. His recommendation to go there was made in an attempt to benefit everyone involved. With extremely clear roads, they could be looking for a place to settle down in three hours. Though it would likely take them longer than that to reach their destination, at least they finally had a destination in mind. It felt like they had a goal, and that was something that they hadn't had for some time.

Even if the roads weren't clear, and even if they had to stop several times along the way to regroup or search for supplies, they would still find a place to settle before the winter settled around them and made things difficult or even impossible.

It seemed, though, that Daryl was still concerned that Carol, in particular and as his riding companion, was going to feel as though he were unjustly making decisions for her.

Carol was used to having her decisions made for her. She'd gone directly from her parents' home to Ed's home. And, though Carol had loved her parents, they'd been controlling enough to teach her the very important lesson that her job in life was to obey and, by obeying, she was being the best person that she could be. Carol had gone from accepting that her parents would decide everything about her life to accepting that she was practically her husband's property and he would do with her what he pleased. Her parents had taught her that, for most of her life, she wasn't old enough—and therefore wasn't wise or experienced enough—to make important decisions. Ed had taught her that she wasn't smart enough to make the right ones—since only he knew what was really right for them. For her.

When Ed was dead, and Carol might have tasted freedom for the first time in her life, Rick had been there to make the decisions. In a way, Rick's presence at that moment had been something of a relief. Carol wasn't sure that she was ready to make decisions—at least not all of them and not all at once—for herself and her daughter. She hadn't practiced the skill, after all, very much. When Rick took control of the group and steered them all in any direction that he found pleasing, Carol followed because there was little else to do. She didn't feel strong enough or prepared enough to face this world on her own and, honestly, it only seemed natural that Rick should be there to make all the decisions that she would ultimately accept and follow.

Daryl worried that any decision he made—or simply contributed to, it seemed—would be seen as him trying to impose some unwanted will on their little group. His concern about how they felt about his decisions set him apart from the men who had already been responsible for making decisions in Carol's life.

Daryl seemed to care about whether or not Carol approved of those decisions and—to further set him apart—Carol thought that every decision he made was actually made in an effort to benefit all of them. Carol felt like Daryl's suggestions were in her best interest, and that was something entirely foreign to her.

She hadn't told anyone about the baby because she wasn't used to people worrying about her best interest at all.

She'd only begun to suspect that she might be pregnant at the rock quarry. In the beginning, it was only barely a hunch. There was a possibility that something was there. Her period was late—and it kept getting later. Of course, she was able to put that down to quite a few things. They'd been without proper nutrition for a while. They were living under extreme stress. Those were things that could change her cycle. She was also getting older and, though she believed she was still too young for menopause when she came from a family of women who hadn't gone through "the change" until quite late in life, she'd even gone so far as to convince herself that she was simply menopausal.

She didn't know how to care for a baby in this world, and she'd been terrified of introducing such a burden to the group—especially while her husband had been alive.

With Ed dead, Carol had worried a little less about the possibility of having a child, but she still hadn't found the idea comforting. She couldn't imagine that the group would be pleased with the addition of one more mouth to feed or the risk that a crying infant might cause.

At the CDC, she'd submitted to the blood test just the same as everyone else. She'd held her breath for a few beats of time while Jenner had studied the results of the tests, but he hadn't said anything. Either she wasn't pregnant—which was what she chose to hold onto at the moment—or else he had been looking for something very specific that had kept him from noticing anything that wasn't exactly what he'd been searching for.

Or, in hindsight, maybe he simply assumed that Carol knew, or that such news wouldn't matter in light of the fate to which he thought he was condemning them all.

The CDC had exploded, but most of their group had escaped the explosion. They'd ran—without a clear destination in mind—until they'd ended up caught in a traffic snare on the highway. A herd of the undead and roaming Walkers had come along while they'd been essentially trapped there, and Carol's young daughter, Sophia, had gone missing.

When Sophia had disappeared, Carol had gotten so preoccupied with worry about her daughter that she'd forgotten entirely about the fact that she might be pregnant. She'd ignored it as though there were no symptoms and no concerns about what the future might hold. The only thing that had mattered to her was holding Sophia again and having her back—safe and sound.

Carol had been halfway convinced that nothing would matter, anyway, if Sophia wasn't found because she'd simply die from a broken heart.

She hadn't died, though. Not even when Sophia had come out of Hershel's barn as a one of the monsters that inhabited their world now. Even though her heart had shattered—and she'd felt every shard of it cutting her as it had exploded into pieces—she hadn't died.

And she hadn't told anyone about the baby she carried—not even as she became more certain that it was there.

Because Lori was pregnant, and she hadn't hesitated to announce her pregnancy. Everyone was immediately occupied with her and her needs. Even Carol had become entirely occupied with Lori's needs.

Maybe a part of her had convinced herself that it didn't matter. Lori's baby would survive. Hers would not. It seemed that was simply the order of things these days.

And it had likely become close to being true.

Carol knew that her little one hadn't had what it needed so far to thrive. It was growing, but it was growing like a weed through the cracks in concrete—in spite of its circumstances and against all odds. It certainly wasn't growing because of the care that it had been shown.

She'd been afraid to love it. She'd been afraid to even care. She'd feared openly acknowledging it, because she feared that would make her care more. Bringing the little one to light might somehow break through her current self-created and self-imposed numbness.

Since Daryl had uncovered her secret, though, she felt entirely different than she had even hours before his discovery. She felt cared for. She felt that the child she'd been hiding was cared for. She'd rested—truly rested—for the first time in more time than she could even recall. She'd eaten until she was full and then she'd done the same thing again at the following meal. She'd drank water when she was thirsty until she wasn't thirsty any longer.

And, for the first time, she was truly acknowledging the existence of the baby. And, without wanting to give herself too much false hope, she was beginning to consider the possibility that it might survive.

In response, it seemed, her little one had wanted to thank her for the care. She'd felt—or at least she'd let herself notice—the first fluttering movements of the small thing just that morning as she'd been preparing their breakfast so that they could eat before packing up to start their move.

Now, as she rode beside Daryl, she rested her hand over her belly, curious to see if the feelings belonged entirely to her or if they might be detected by the outside world.

And Daryl worried that she might feel offended by the fact that he'd brought to her the first feelings of hope that she'd felt in some time.

Carol listened to Daryl's stammered attempts to justify something that needed no more justification for a few moments more and then she finally sighed and turned to face him instead of watching the rolling landscape as it ran past the window of the truck.

"The mountains are the best choice," Carol said. "I'm glad you thought of them. Otherwise—I don't think I would have thought of them and T wasn't sure where to go. There's no telling where we might have ended up."

"You like the mountains?" Daryl asked.

"I loved the mountains even before all of this," Carol said. "I love the idea of—how safe I think they'll be. I'm excited that we're going to have a place to call home."

A quick smile flashed across Daryl's lips. Carol saw it even though he swallowed it down as quickly as was humanly possible. He hummed, rolled down his window, and fidgeted around to find a cigarette, one-handed, in the pack that he pulled out of his pocket. Carol took his lighter before he could light it and lit it for him. He eyed her almost suspiciously before he accepted that there was no trick to her offer and let her light the cigarette that dangled from his lips. Then he thanked her.

It was only then that he seemed ready to even respond to her approval of his plan.

"Home," he said. "Kinda—like that."

"Better than spending the next—however many years on the road," Carol said. "Until we all die of old age, exposure, starvation or…or those things."

"We'll find somethin' in the mountains," Daryl said. "Nice cabin, maybe. Couple cabins, even. We'll have time to get settled. Meat, wood, water…we'll have it all."

"Before the winter comes," Carol supplied, having heard it several times in the past few days while they worried over what was to come.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"'Fore the—baby comes," he said.

Carol caught that he flicked his eyes in her direction, but he settled them back on the almost empty highway before she could be entirely certain that they'd sought out her immediate reaction to his concern. She turned back to look out her window and hide the smile that she swallowed down.

"Before the baby comes," she echoed. "Daryl…?"

"Hmmm?" He hummed.

"Thank you for—thinking of a good place for all of us. A safe place."

"Hope it is safe," Daryl said.

"It will be," Carol assured him. "We'll make it that way."

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**AN: As I'm continuing this, any all suggestions are appreciated. If there's something you'd like to see/think would be cool to see, I'm more than open to suggestions. Thanks for reading, and thank you for commenting and reviewing to let me know that you're reading! **


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl was surprised at how much the traffic bunched up on the highways thinned as they got farther away from Atlanta.

If they wanted to, they could have made their mountain destination by nightfall. There was no rush to be there overnight, though, and Daryl didn't want to hurry there only to scramble, in the dark, to find something that they could use as a temporary shelter. Instead of pushing it too far, he gave them half a day of travelling at less-than-remarkable speeds, and then he chose an exit that looked promising. In the rearview mirror, he could see T-Dog's truck as he veered off to follow Daryl.

It was more crowded off the exit than on the highway. Either people had been able to keep going once they'd hit the highway, or they'd never made it there to begin with.

For the moment, everything seemed almost suspended in time. Cars piled into the gas stations that surrounded the exit. The cars at each of the stores were lined up like they were all still waiting patiently for their opportunity at the pumps. There were a few wrecks near the exit and cars piled around them like they'd stopped to survey the damage or help someone and they'd simply never moved again. Some of them still had open doors and Daryl could imagine that their engines would have still been running if time had permitted such a thing.

Everything was still and quiet. It was like some kind of abandoned movie set. Everything was frozen in a given moment in time—a moment that had been chaotic and had given way to absolute nothingness.

It looked like, at any moment, someone might snap their fingers or call out some direction and the whole town might return to life. For that reason, the absolute stillness was eerie. For another reason entirely, it was comforting to Daryl.

There were no Walkers. Or, at the very least, there were no visible Walkers. They were likely present, but they weren't wandering around for the moment.

Daryl chose the clearest spot on the side of the road that he could find and pulled the truck over. He parked it and killed the engine.

"We're stopping here?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed.

"That tone mean you don't approve of this particular spot or does it mean you don't approve of the town of—what'd the exit say?"

"I don't remember," Carol said. "I meant—here. Don't you want to go to—at least to one of the stores?"

"Wanna talk to T first," Daryl said. "It's pretty clear here. Can see pretty good in every direction. Don't see no Walkers an' they won't sneak up on us too quick standin' right here. Gotta weave too much in an' outta them cars. Good a place as any to stop an' talk about what the hell we doin' next."

"I have to go to the bathroom," Carol said.

Daryl swallowed.

It was an announcement that anyone might have made. Daryl could stand to take a piss himself and, glancing in the side mirror he could see that T-Dog was already out of his truck and around back of it—more than likely christening one of his tires or pissing off in the ditch.

But Carol winced with the admission like she was admitting cold-blooded murder.

Daryl's stomach clenched as he realized that she probably thought everything she needed was an inconvenience to someone, and she'd surely been taught to think that.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Me too." He cleared his throat. "What if I was to take you over there? You can go behind that car an' I'll watch your back. You can watch mine, too, while I take a piss."

"T might be a better choice," Carol said.

"To take you to piss?" Daryl asked.

"To watch your back," Carol said. "I'm not very good at keeping anyone safe."

"You do alright," Daryl said. "For what you been taught to do. Allowed to do. You killed more'n a couple Walkers I guess."

"Not too many more," Carol admitted.

Daryl hummed.

"Lori kinda set the precedent that—she couldn't be expected to kill them. I guess it leaked over into thinkin' that no women hardly could. Maybe—we thought you preferred it that way. But'cha don't?"

"I'd like to be able to—watch your back," Carol said. "When you take a piss."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah—well, then that's what the hell you gonna be able to do," Daryl said. "But first—let's go piss an' talk to T about what the hell we doin' for the night. We'll get the rest of it straight after that."

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"Be careful," Daryl said, reaching his hand back to catch Carol's hand as she stepped through the busted out door. If it were some time before the world had gone to hell in a handbasket, busting out the door would have likely triggered a hellacious alarm. Today it did nothing more than litter the ground with broken glass. "Don't slip."

Carol accepted Daryl's offered support and stepped gingerly over the frame of the door and into the store. T-Dog, rather than stepping through the door, reached through the frame, unlocked the door, and opened it.

"Smart ass," Daryl said with a snort as T-Dog entered the space.

"You would've thought this was one of the first places to get cleaned out," T-Dog mused.

"It ain't been untouched," Daryl said, looking around. "We just the first that come through the front door. Look over there—see? That window's been busted out."

"Still, it's not exactly empty," T-Dog said.

"Looks like most the guns are gone," Daryl said. "This woulda been before the assholes started figurin' out that guns is just about more damn trouble than they worth. I hear somethin', though. You hear growlin'?"

"I hear something," Carol agreed.

"Yeah," T-Dog said. "Me too. Comin' from—that way."

Daryl followed the direction in which T-Dog pointed and agreed that he heard the growling issuing forth from that part of the building. He crossed the floor, glass crunching underneath his feet, and reached the closed door. He banged on it and the growling intensified as something behind the door banged back, presumably by throwing its weight against the door.

"How many do you think are in there?" T-Dog asked.

"Two," Daryl said. "Maybe three. I'ma bet they was the proprietors of this fine establishment. Maybe went in there to hide out when some trouble started. Hell—without seein' 'em, coulda been they got bit an' run in there never knowin' what the hell would happen to 'em."

T-Dog laughed and the laugh rang through the building. The person who owned it had been in the business of selling arms, but they hadn't been in the business of trying to make the place feel warm and cozy. The floors were cement, the walls were old, brown paneling, and the place smelled like stale cigar smoke and wet paper to Daryl.

But they weren't here for the ambiance.

T-Dog's echoing laugh, though, and the absence of any more growling than that which issued forth from behind the closed door, let Daryl know that there weren't any more Walkers in the area.

"Imagine—curling up and dying in a store full of weapons," T-Dog said.

"Hell—you don't know. Maybe they went early," Daryl said. "Didn't know what the hell was goin' on or that them creatures was even dead. Maybe it was their own fuckin' friends an' family that took a bite out of 'em an' they didn't know how to handle it. Maybe they was bit, already dyin', an' just went back there to die in peace."

"Damn—you knew 'em, man? Didn't mean to upset you," T-Dog commented.

"I don't give a damn about 'em," Daryl said. He walked around to start perusing the weapons that they would take with them. The first thing he did was snatch down a large gun bag, almost certain that he would be filling it with more than just guns. "I'm just sayin' people don't always do what the hell's the most sensible when shit goes flyin' off the rails. Carol—watcha step. Come here."

Carol walked over to where Daryl was and he pulled out a large tray of hunting knives that they kept behind the counter. They were some of the nicer knives and, consequently, some of the more dangerous ones that they had. They kept them out of easy reach of the customers. Daryl rested the large tray on the counter, perused them, and selected one. He felt the grip of it in his hand and offered it to Carol.

"Good grip," he said. "Decent size for your hand, I'd think. How's it feel?"

Carol turned the knife over in her hand. She eyed the large, sharp blade.

"I guess it feels fine," she said.

"Better'n that kitchen knife you had that got hung up that time you tried to stab a Walker with it," Daryl said.

"I guess it is," Carol said.

Daryl hummed at her.

"Sure way to find out," he said. He walked past and made his way over to the door where he'd left the Walkers in the space where they'd gone to die. T-Dog was walking around, perusing weapons for his own selection, and Daryl called his name to get his attention. "Could use a lil' backup here. Wanna let one out. Give her a try at it."

"You crazy?" T-Dog asked with a laugh.

"If the three of us together can't kill one damned Walker," Daryl said, "we don't deserve to go no fuckin' further than this here store. Just help me make sure it goes down 'fore it takes anyone with it if somethin' goes wrong."

T-Dog agreed to the plan and Daryl pulled his own knife—one that he'd been relying on since the start of the whole thing. He might add a few more to his collection because the opportunity was too good to pass up, but he was too sentimental to get rid of the one that he had. It was one that he'd been using for years. Merle had given it to him when he'd first started hunting with him. The handle was even engraved—B.B., and only Daryl knew what it stood for.

Daryl turned the knob and eased the door open with the door between himself and the Walkers. Almost immediately, one of the Walkers rushed out like he fell. Daryl slammed the door shut with his full weight against it just as soon as the Walker cleared it. His movement shoved the Walker off to the side, but it also prevented any others from escaping before he shut the door. The sound of scraping and the hard thuds of the trapped Walker's anger at being prevented escape let Daryl know that there was at least one more behind the door.

The Walker that was free answered at least some of their questions. There had definitely been some chaos surrounding its death. It had once been an old man, and there was a significant amount of flesh missing out of its shoulder.

Daryl imagined they would either find his wife or child waiting behind the door if they were to release the other Walker.

The Walker stumbled around a moment before he started toward T-Dog and Carol—the two of them standing close together.

"Just walk toward him," Daryl coached. "Hand out like this. Push him back as you bring the knife in. Under the chin, through the temple, or through the eye like you want. He's been rottin' a good damn bit."

Carol swallowed, shifted the new knife in her hand, and stepped forward just the way that Daryl told her to. He and T-Dog closed in on either side of the Walker to offer quick help if it were needed. The decaying Walker's skull gave way fairly easily—at least in comparison to some—as Carol slammed the knife through its temple with a great deal of force.

The Walker went down, took Carol's knife, and very nearly took Carol with it. Daryl reached out and grabbed her in time to keep her from hitting the ground.

"Good," Daryl said. "That's good. First time. But'cha got him down. Next time you just—hold onto your knife if you can. But you can snatch it loose now."

Carol half-knelt and half leaned over the Walker. She almost looked like she might cry over the whole thing. Daryl didn't bring attention to her upset because he didn't want to risk embarrassing her and really sending her into tears. She grabbed the handle of the knife—already dripping with any number of liquids—and pulled at it, but it slipped right out of her hand.

"It's the same as the other," Carol said. "I'm not strong enough to hold onto it."

"Once it gets wet, gets slippery," Daryl said.

T-Dog snorted and Daryl eyed him.

"They all do," T-Dog said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"It's the handle," Daryl said, ignoring T-Dog. It came easily to him since he'd spent a great deal of his life ignoring his brother's improper comments. "That's all the hell it is. Ain't you." He walked back to the large box of knives and looked through them again. He smiled to himself as he picked one up. "Come here. Leave that. You don't need it no way."

Carol walked over to him and Daryl offered her the knife.

"That knife looks…"

"Pretty fuckin' badass," Daryl said. He smiled at her. "Just right for you."

Carol shook her head.

"I don't think…"

"I don't think you oughta be intimidated by it," Daryl said. "Try it. You ain't gonna loose your grip on that one just 'cause the handle gets wet."

Carol took the knife. It was a knife that would have originally been made for trench warfare. It was sold in this little place to appeal to the wannabe Billy-Badasses that probably came in there to shop for shit that they would never actually use. Luckily for them, nobody had bought it before the world went to hell and nobody had stolen it when they'd come in looting for guns.

Carol threaded her fingers through the holes in the brass-knuckle styled handle.

"Feel good?" Daryl asked.

A quick smile flitted across her lips.

"Feels OK," she said.

"Feel more secure'n that last one?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"We gonna try it again," Daryl said. "Believe it's our last Walker to play with right now. But—I want'cha to listen to me. You take—you take constructive criticism alright?"

Carol smiled at him. He thought her cheeks ran a little pink. She laughed to herself.

"I don't know," she said. "It's the only kind of criticism that I've never been offered."

Daryl swallowed. The weight of the comment, even meant as a joke, dropped heavy in his stomach. He nodded his understanding.

"When you stab it, pull back on it," Daryl said. "Like you pullin' it toward you. But do your best to keep your other hand up like I showed you before. Like you blockin' it comin' at'cha. That'll keep it from fallin' on you, but it'll also use the weight of the damned thing to help you get the blade free of the bone. When your knife comes free, just push it on back so it don't come forward an' take you off your feet that way. You got that?"

"I think so," Carol said.

"You ready to handle another one?" Daryl asked.

"I'm ready to try," Carol said.

"Better'n some people I met since this shit went down," Daryl said. He walked to the door and opened it. He released the second Walker—and the final one trapped behind the door. It was a woman. She weighed less than the man, and she was probably the first killed. Without the door pushing her to the side as it had with the creature that had once been her husband, she shuffled straight out in the direction of Carol and T-Dog. Carol met her before she got too close, though, and taking Daryl's instructions to heart, she sunk the knife into the Walker's head and then snatched it free before she shoved the body to the floor.

She was panting from her exertion, but she looked wildly proud of herself.

And Daryl felt wildly proud of her, too.

T-Dog, from where he was standing with his own knife in one hand and a bag he was clearly intending to pack in the other, applauded Carol awkwardly.

"There's the right damn knife for every hand," Daryl said. "Looks like you got yours."

"Thank you," Carol said softly.

"Done it yourself," Daryl said, his stomach twisting at the very sound of Carol thanking him—at the way she was looking at him like she appreciated him so. "Next time I ask you to cover my back, I don't wanna hear no bullshit from you about how you can't do it. Come on. Let's pack this shit up so we can find a place for the night."


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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They easily found a place to hold up for the night in the abandoned town. They rifled through the contents of a few stores, but most of the places had been picked over pretty well and there wasn't much worth having to be found. What they had found, they'd packed into the back of the trucks and they'd left the little town not long after the sun rose.

When they left it, it looked every bit as frozen in place as it had when they'd found it. Their time there wouldn't be remembered by anyone because there was nobody left to even remember that the little town had once been a dot on a state road map.

Carol was driving while Daryl sat beside her and alternated between halfway sleeping and watching the road ahead of them with heavy-lidded eyes.

"You asleep?" Carol asked.

"Mmm," Daryl responded. "Not really." He sat up to prove that he was telling the truth. "You need to switch?"

"I'm fine," Carol said.

"T OK?" Daryl asked.

"He hasn't flashed his lights," Carol said. It was their agreed upon signal from T-Dog that he would flash his lights a couple of times if he needed anything. This could range from a bathroom break to a quick discussion about a newly arising concern. So far he'd only flashed then once since they'd left the little town that had been eerily frozen in time.

"You gotta piss?" Daryl asked.

"Do you?" Carol asked.

"I don't got a—don't got a kid sittin' on my bladder," Daryl said. "I guess I can hold it."

"I can too," Carol said.

"Suit yourself," Daryl said. "But it ain't nothin' but a thing to pull over."

He yawned and stretched. He had spent the night keeping watch. He'd known that T-Dog would be driving and needed some rest—especially since he'd be driving alone. There would be nobody there to keep him awake when the roads were clear and the curves got monotonous. He knew, too, that Carol simply needed the rest. She refused to complain, and she refused to make requests, because she remembered all too well the ceaseless demands that Lori had made, but Daryl knew she had some needs. It was only natural that growing another human being had to take it out of her—at least somewhat. She could stand to get a decent amount of sleep. The only way that Daryl had gotten her to agree to sleep, though, was by promising her that she could drive and he could nap in the truck.

He wasn't sleeping very much, though. It wasn't that he didn't trust Carol's driving or that he was particularly concerned about anything. He simply wasn't managing to cross entirely into the land of sleep and, instead, seemed to be stuck hovering at the point where his head simply felt fuzzy and his thoughts seemed a little distant and muffled.

Honestly, he welcomed the conversation if she wanted to offer it.

"You need me to drive?" Daryl asked.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," Carol said.

"Yeah, but I ain't," Daryl said. "You needed somethin'. What'd you need?"

"Nothing, really," Carol said. "Just—do we actually know where we're going?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He rolled down the window and lit himself a cigarette.

"We gonna know when we see it," Daryl said. "Look—in them mountains there's been people that's been livin' for—hell longer'n I can even say. They used to livin' off the land. Grow their own food, drink water that's naturally there…some of 'em without electricity, even. This is a place that's set up for survival 'cause that's what the hell the people that live there been doin' forever. When we get there, we're lookin' for somewhere we can have a good, reliable roof over our heads. We're lookin' for water and a patch of land to start growin' food. Build a smokehouse—if there ain't one there. Greenhouse. Barn for storage. Maybe we find us some livestock that's got loose. Domesticate it again. Start us a herd for food or milk."

"And you think we'll find all this tonight?" Carol asked.

Daryl snorted. Her tone of voice made the humor bubble up in his chest.

"Smartass," he muttered. He made sure to say it loudly enough that she could hear him, though. When he cut his eyes in her direction, she was watching him, eyebrow raised, and smirking. "Watch the damned road 'fore you get us all killed."

She laughed to herself, but she did turn her attention back to the road.

"I'm serious," Carol said. "How are we going to know?"

"We'll just know," Daryl said. "You gotta trust me. It won't never work if you don't trust me. You trust me?"

Carol smiled to herself.

"I do," she said.

Daryl was surprised at the warm feeling that flooded his chest at the two simple words. The tightening in his belly, too, caught him off-guard. She was teasing him, but he heard in her voice that she meant those two words—and that meant a great deal to Daryl.

Even if he wasn't certain how they'd know when they found the right place, or even that there was a perfect place out there, he was determined not to let her down.

"Daryl," Carol said, after a moment had passed.

He finished his cigarette and flicked the butt out the window.

"Yeah?" He asked, purposefully blowing the smoke out the open window as he said the word.

"Call it power of suggestion or—whatever you want," Carol said. "But I have to pee now."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Me too," he admitted. "And I don't bet T's gonna bitch too much. Pick a good shoulder an' pull over."

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The orange-roofed motel was designed to accommodate the lower budget tourist on their trip to see the mountains. The second-story room was fairly easy to break into, though, and it was Walker free. Since it was also on the second floor, and the only way to reach it was to climb up a rather rickety set of steel and wood-beam stairs. The likelihood of any Walker stumbling to the top of them, and making the necessary turns to get down the narrow walkway to the room, was next to impossible.

They could all sleep well for the night, at least.

Inside the room, there were two double beds. The garish decorations inside—with brightly colored drapes hanging over the windows and floral bedspreads that clashed with the ridiculous paintings above the beds—were as much a declaration of the cheap past of the motel as the bright orange roof.

Daryl and T-Dog carried most of their necessary things inside while Carol set up their lanterns around the room and lit them to supply them with some light.

"Place smells like wet ashtrays have been fermentin' in here for about ten years," T-Dog declared, huffing out his disgust as he put down some of the bags.

Carol moved and tried the windows. Finding that they would give, she raised them up.

"It'll air out a little," Carol said. "We can leave these open for now."

"That's the kinda smell don't never air out. Still, we can leave 'em open all night," Daryl said. "Might catch a breeze. There ain't no Walkers down there right now, and they sure couldn't follow us up them stairs."

T-Dog stepped out the door and hung over the railing. Daryl followed him out to survey their surroundings from the second story more than anything. While he was out there, he lit a cigarette and T-Dog huffed at him and fanned in his direction.

"Man—I come out here to escape that shit," T-Dog said. "Burnin' my damned nostrils."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You'll get used to it in a minute," Daryl said. "Smells damn near like home to me."

"You gonna die," T-Dog said.

"Damn sure am," Daryl said with a laugh. "Somehow—I'm startin' to doubt it's the smokes that'll get me."

"You don't never know," T-Dog commented.

"Maybe there are worse ways to go," Daryl said. "You brought any of that beer we found in?"

"In that gray cooler bag thing," T-Dog said. "With everything else we got from that BiLo."

Without Daryl having to ask for it, and maybe because he wanted to save Carol from some of the fresh cigarette smoke on top of the stale smoke, T-Dog dipped inside the room again. He came out a moment later with a couple of the beers. They were as hot as fresh piss, but they were wet.

Carol followed him out with a can of her own, but hers held ginger ale—a find that had had damn near thrilled her to the point that Daryl wished they could have found a great deal more of it. He'd promised her, though, and T-Dog had agreed, that all they found was hers.

"I hope you don't mind some beef jerky and mystery vegetables out of those cans with no labels," Carol said. "Because there's no electricity and I don't think it's wise to start a fire in there."

"Smells like there's already been a fire in there," T-Dog said. "Like the Marlboro plant burned down in the bathtub."

"We'll be fine for the night on what we got," Daryl offered.

Carol walked around to Daryl's side, opposite of where T-Dog was leaning on the rail, and looked out.

"It's so beautiful here," Carol said. "So quiet and peaceful. I used to love the mountains when I was a little girl, but I haven't been—well, since Ed and I got married."

"I come up a couple times with Merle," Daryl said. "He'd come up here huntin'. Get away from home, sometimes. He'd bring me with him. Hell—we mighta stayed in this motel right here. He was almost always stoppin' at these lil' orange-roof places."

"I didn't really come up this far," T-Dog admitted. "We used to go on vacation to my grandma's house more than anything. She lived in Alabama. There were some hills and all, don't get me wrong, but it wasn't like this."

"Well—unless y'all got objections," Daryl said. "We're lookin' at where the hell we gonna call home right now."

"As long as it ain't this stinkin' ass motel room forever," T-Dog said, "I'm just as satisfied to call this place home as I am any other town."

He let himself back into the motel room. It wasn't long before Daryl could hear the steady grind of the crank-operated can opener as T-Dog took his chances with some of the label-free cans that they'd taken off the shelves of a BiLo they'd raided in the little town that had been frozen in time. The place had been pretty well cleared out. Clearly the town hadn't gone still before people had taken to looting, and clearly the people had realized that they would need food, but they had left behind a lot of stuff. The town had gone still before they'd gotten hungry enough to take their chances. It had gone still before the practice of clearing out every available morsel had come to be the norm.

It was better for them, though. They hadn't gotten as much as they might have hoped, but they'd gotten something at least.

"I opened three cans," T-Dog called from inside the room.

"Yeah?" Daryl responded. "What'd luck decide was for supper?"

"Some kind of greens," T-Dog said, "Carrots, and Kidney beans." He appeared at the door, hanging out of it. "We can fight over who gets what. Ladies get first choice."

"We'll split it three ways," Carol said. "Everybody gets everything. Come on—I'll help you."

Carol followed T-Dog inside and Daryl lit another cigarette to give himself a moment longer to linger outside. He sipped the hot beer which he would likely follow with a second, and he surveyed their surroundings once more.

They would consider the motel something like their base camp until they settled on a place to stay. They'd spend the next day driving around looking for that perfect place to call home. From where they were situated, Daryl could make out clusters of tourist cabins built for renters, and he could make out solitary homesteads dotted around the mountainsides.

He could make out, too, the smoke of fires that he knew weren't burning by accident as it contrasted only slightly with the fog that naturally settled in white around the mountains.

The smoke, the fires, and the people who had clearly built them were something else to be considered—and they would consider all of it when Daryl brought it up to them over a shared dinner of a strange, luck-based vegetable medley—but those pieces of information would only be something they considered insofar as they let them help them decide if they wanted to go toward the fires or to steer clear of them entirely.

It wouldn't be enough to make them leave, though. The mountains had always been home to a great deal of different people, and there was more than enough space to share.

Daryl could feel it in his gut. They might not have found the exact spot where they were going to lay their claim and make their stand, but they were home. All of them.


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**It's very much a transition chapter to move us to the next piece. **

**I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"If we can see them, they can see us," Daryl said. "We ain't built no fire yet, but we gonna need hot water eventually. We gonna want to cook food. When we start sendin' up smoke, they gonna see us as sure as we can see them."

"What do we do?" Carol asked.

The dinner that they were sharing wasn't really disagreeable. They'd eaten worse, and they'd certainly eaten less. Still, Daryl hoped that they wouldn't share too many cold meals. He looked forward to settling somewhere where he could find meat for them. He was already daydreaming of a smokehouse and enough meat to see them through the winter when everything was sleeping. He was already imagining steaming hot baths and a place where they could actually breathe and consider building a life—a new kind of life, and a good kind of life.

"We got choices," Daryl said. "The way I see it. But there ain't none of 'em perfect."

"Let's hear what you got," T-Dog said. He was still polishing off some of the food that was left on his plate. He was taking his time chewing his way through a piece of beef jerky. He'd savored every bite of his meal like it was the finest spread he'd seen in years.

Of course, there was a great deal to be said for eating your fill without the feeling that someone was breathing down your neck and waiting to snatch the food away just before you could eat it.

"They here," Daryl said. "Now I knowed we wouldn't be the only ones up here. Like I told you before we even got here—this is the kinda place where people survive. The people from here? That's what they been doin' their whole lives. That's what they was raised to do. This is the end of the world for some people, but it's just another damn day for them. That means that this place? It's the best place to come if you ain't from here. Everyone with a lick of sense knows that. It's paradise, as far as that goes these days. The kinda place where we gonna make a life."

"So, they're here and we're here," T-Dog said.

"And there's plenty of room," Carol said.

"Lots of room," Daryl agreed. "Tomorrow we start lookin' for our place. Where we gonna make us a home. Maybe we stay to ourselves. Keep our distance. Pretend we don't see them. Maybe they do the same."

"But maybe not?" T-Dog said. It wasn't a question and it wasn't a statement. It was something in between that invited Daryl to make commentary as he saw fit.

"We don't know what kind of people they are," Daryl said. "We got the advantage, though, that they don't know what kind of people we are either. I think we gotta be careful with the burying our heads in the sand. We know there's good people out there, but there's not so good people, too. If we wait for them to come to us, it could be that they comin' in a way we don't like."

"But if we go and bother them," Carol said, "then we might be opening up doors that we'd rather remained closed. Or—even that they'd rather remained closed."

"I didn't say there was a simple answer to any of this," Daryl said.

"But you're leaning one way more than the others," T-Dog said. "So, let's hear it."

"I ain't your boss," Daryl said. He shook his head. "I won't be Rick. I won't tell you how to live."

"Even the Round Table had a leader," Carol said. "A leader doesn't mean a dictator."

"You got us here," T-Dog said. "And it wasn't a bad decision. I'm getting lung cancer from this motel room, but otherwise, it's a good damn night. I think I can speak for Carol when I say that we want to hear your opinion." He laughed to himself and put down his newly emptied plate. "And then we can vote to accept what you throw out there or to veto it and start again."

"If we go there in peace," Daryl said, "then we let 'em know what kinda people we are. Maybe we find out that we got people to work with. Survive with. We start things off on the right foot."

"But if they turn out to be bad?" Carol asked.

"Then we do what the hell we gotta do," Daryl said. "We can be peaceful if we get the chance, but we can handle ourselves if that's the way they want it."

"You mean kill them?" Carol asked.

"We do what we gotta do," T-Dog said. "If the law of the land is kill or be killed…"

"We don't know how many there are," Carol said. "And I'm no good at—anything."

Daryl's stomach twisted. She wasn't saying it for pity. He could hear it in her voice. She didn't want pity for either of them. She was simply making an admission. She felt like she really had very little to offer them that extended beyond what she could do with the food that they found and how clean she could keep their clothes and linens.

"Tomorrow—we look for a place," Daryl said. "We start tryin' to find somethin' worth havin'. We keep an eye on them. See if they movin' toward us. We keep our eyes peeled. We don't gotta send out the welcome wagon on day one. Chances are they gonna keep their distance a while too. You can't say you no good at anything. You used that knife alright. Nobody expects you to master what nobody's took the time to teach you. We start tomorrow, though. You learn how to take care of you. Of us."

Daryl didn't miss that there was absolutely an uplifting to Carol's spirit that took place. Right there, sitting with her legs crossed in front of her on the floor and her back against the foot of the motel bed, she lightened. She practically grew a half an inch from the weight that lifted off her shoulders.

Rick and Shane had always viewed the women around them as somewhat lacking—having little or nothing to offer in the way of protecting themselves or the group. Rick's wife, Lori, had strengthened that belief because she'd practically refused to take care of herself. When it came to something dangerous, Lori's thumbs were proverbially put on backward. She suddenly lacked the ability to do anything and very nearly became "overcome with the vapors," as Daryl's brother had teased, the moment that she faced a threat of any kind.

Lori had taught those that wanted to believe that the women were helpless that they were right. And Carol had been swallowed up in that belief because she feared, at the time, bucking anyone or anything. Her husband, after all, had preferred her helpless.

Tomorrow, Daryl would put a weapon in her hands—something more than just the knife that he was sure she'd grow to think of as practically an extension of her own self. He couldn't guarantee that she'd immediately get the hang of it, and he couldn't guarantee that she'd be an immediate markswoman, but he did know that desire went a long way in learning to do something well.

He wanted her to feel like she wasn't helpless. In a way, he needed her to feel that she wasn't helpless. And, even though he could pretend it was because it was in the best interest of their tiny group that she be able to protect herself and others, he knew, deep down, that his greatest concern wasn't the group. He wanted Carol to find her strength for Carol. He wanted her to have it simply because she needed it.

He wanted to help her find it.

"What if we're outnumbered?" T-Dog said. "Realistically—there could be a lot of 'em."

"For that, we hope they're friendly," Daryl said. "And we don't go approaching them blind and stupid. We do what we gonna do for a few days. Get a feel for where we are. Find us a place where we don't bother them an' they don't bother us. Let 'em see our smoke. Keep on guard for any visitors, but go on about buildin' what we're tryin' to build. Then, when it's all settled for a bit, we go look at them. We see what they got. From a distance. We make some decisions. Approach if it's safe. If we think it might be."

"And if we don't?" Carol asked. "Think it's safe?"

"Leave 'em the hell alone," Daryl said. "And we don't mess with them if they don't come near us."

"But if they come near us," T-Dog offered, "then we handle ourselves. We let 'em know that we're going to fight for what's ours, but we'd rather they just went on about their way."

Daryl could see concern on Carol's face. She had a great deal to be concerned about. They all did. When he nudged her, though, and asked her what she thought, she simply nodded and gave him the best smile she could.

"We'll do what we have to do," she said. "We'll hope for the best, but we'll do what we have to do. And tomorrow, we'll start getting ready to be able to do that."

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"The whole point of taking shifts," T-Dog said into the darkness of the room, "is so that those who are supposed to be sleeping get the opportunity to sleep." His voice was barely loud enough to carry to where Daryl was. If he hadn't been awake, Daryl wouldn't have heard it at all.

Daryl sighed. He balled the pillow up again and shoved it back under his face like he'd done at least thirty times before.

"Thought you was asleep," Daryl responded into the darkness. He kept his own voice low. The window was open, but the curtain was pulled mostly closed. It was open to allow for the circulation of air. It was also open so that Carol could call for help if she needed it. There was very little chance that she would need any sort of help from either of them. It was nearly impossible for a Walker to reach the level where they were sleeping and they hadn't done anything that would draw the attention of the somewhat distant group.

"I can't sleep with you worrying all night," T-Dog said. "You worry too loud. She's fine out there."

"I know there's nothin' out there," Daryl said. "Besides—she could call for help if she needed it."

"You can stop worrying about those people. We'll keep our distance until we're ready to interact with them," T-Dog said. "There's no need to rush into that shit."

"Chances are they just wanna live," Daryl said. "Want peace as much as we do."

"If they come looking for us," T-Dog said, "and they come looking for a fight, we'll give them what they want."

"There ain't but three of us," Daryl said. "Be nice to pretend that the danger was equal for everyone, but that ain't the way of the world. Assholes don't just kill…"

"They don't get her," T-Dog said, almost as though he were able to read Daryl's thoughts. "If that's what they're after and if that's who they are, they don't get her. You got my word. She can have it, too, for what it's worth. I'll do what I can, and they don't get her."

Daryl relaxed into the mattress. His mind was practically crawling with thoughts that scurried around like bugs scratching inside his skull. The nest was stirred up and he didn't know how to quiet it down. Slowly, though, things were growing still. His stomach churned a little as his brain caught up with itself.

He worried about how much he'd given away without even meaning to do so.

"I'm just—worried about all of us," Daryl said. "Tryin' to build a life."

T-Dog laughed quietly in the darkness.

"You're worried about the same thing you been worried about since Hershel's," T-Dog said. "Maybe before—I didn't miss wandering eyes at the CDC, and I didn't keep track of all the comings and goings in the hallways."

"The hell you talkin' about?" Daryl asked.

He knew, though, what T-Dog was talking about. And T-Dog knew that Daryl knew.

"I know I invited myself along as a third wheel—fourth wheel? Three and a half?"

"You was invited," Daryl said.

"I never held it against Rick that he wanted to take care of Lori. I never held it against him that he wanted to take care of Carl. Hell—I never held it against Shane either. It's the way it oughta be, right? You take care of what you love. I would've held it against him—both of them, maybe—if they didn't give a shit. I think I held it against Ed."

Daryl grunted in the darkness because he didn't trust himself to say anything.

"My point is," T-Dog continued, "that I didn't hold it against him that he wanted to take care of his family. It was just—how he went about it. It was just that it was all at the expense of all of us. If we'd been asked, even…but it was just take." He moved around in the bed. Maybe he sat up. "I'm not some monster that doesn't want the best for women and children. I just think I'm better for everybody if I'm not starved to death."

"Won't let you starve, man," Daryl offered. "Not if I can help it."

There was another rumble of quiet laughter.

"And I'll give you my word that I'll help you take care of her," T-Dog said. "Her cargo, too, 'cause I can tell it matters to you—if it'll help you get some sleep at night."

"I didn't say nothin' about—why I weren't sleepin'," Daryl offered.

"Maybe you didn't have to," T-Dog said.

Daryl almost felt like he would suffocate. He didn't know what to say. He wasn't comfortable, even, with the thoughts floating around in the air. Even though he hadn't given voice to his thoughts and feelings, T-Dog had heard them. He was in possession of them, and they filled the room.

"Hey—don't worry," T-Dog said. "Just go to sleep. Let me get some sleep. I'll keep your secrets. I've got nobody to tell."


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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The decision to put off looking for another place to stay for a few days more was made over breakfast and born entirely out of practicality. The motel room where they were staying was completely safe. There was no need to rush to abandon it. Beyond the smell, to which they were honestly becoming adjusted, there was nothing about the room that made it uncomfortable. There was enough space. Two people could comfortably sleep while the third kept watch, and there was no need to worry too much about Walkers.

At the time of the turn, perhaps, there had been a healthy number of people visiting the motel as evidenced by the number of cars in the parking lot. All the way around the building, there were cars that hadn't been touched—cars they could pick clean and from which they could siphon gas. The motel was in a popular area for tourists to come year-round to see the changing of the seasons and to seek a quick escape from the mundane lives they lived elsewhere.

A quick exploration of the motel suggested that, though there may be Walkers trapped in rooms and other closed-in spaces, there was no reason to enter too many of those areas. There was a small kitchen area that had offered up two Walkers when the door was forced open, but they hadn't been hard to get rid of. There was relatively little food there that hadn't already expired, but they would take what was available—mostly packages of oatmeal and other things like that. Carol was grateful, too, for a few of the larger pots and such that the small kitchen area had provided. As far as food went, the cars around them would offer more than enough in the way of snacks. People always travelled with snacks.

The orange-roofed motel was built in the shape of a square. In the middle of the inner courtyard, which was Walker-free, was a swimming pool. It was almost empty except for a nasty puddle of sludgy, dirty water in the deep end. The pool had likely been full at the end of things. Time had evaporated out most of the water and, knowing places like this, the slow seeping out of water had probably been helped by the fact that the pool likely had a leak somewhere that was unproblematic while it was regularly tended and refilled.

The empty pool was the perfect place to build a fire. It would naturally contain the flames, and the shape of the building would help obscure the source of the smoke from any eyes that happened to notice smoke, which did not belong to their own fires, as it blended in with the natural hazy nature of the mountains. They could cook there, and they could warm water to make their rag-and-bucket baths more pleasurable.

All around them were wooded areas and it took Daryl all of half an hour to explore the nearby surroundings, while smoking a cigarette and enjoying an instant coffee made with room temperature bottled water, to find a small creek fed by a natural spring not too far from the motel—the likes of which he knew would be plentiful throughout the area.

There was no need to leave the motel in a rush. They hadn't even begun to explore all that the quiet little oasis might offer them.

What was most important, they decided over breakfast, was that each and every member of their three-person group feel as though they were capable of defending themselves and protecting the others when they did decide to venture out in search of something they hoped to make a permanent home.

T-Dog was fair with a gun. Daryl had seen him hit a few of the targets which he chose for himself in various situations since they'd met. He was good with a knife as well, but it was clear that he had a natural preference for the tools that kept him from having to get up-close and personal with the Walkers. He would have to branch out from that preference, but he was well on his way to knowing his way around some of the weapons available to them.

Carol was good with a knife, but it was new to her and she was clearly not confident with it just yet. She had been given relatively little opportunity to practice with any other type of weapon and, therefore, she had no confidence in any of her abilities.

Daryl had practically been raised with a knife in one hand a gun or crossbow in the other. For him, his weapons were an extension of him. He couldn't imagine himself without them.

It was Daryl's hope, though, that all three of them would feel as comfortable with weapons by the time they looked for their new home as he already felt.

Guns were dangerous for a number of reasons, and they were unreliable. Guns were loud without silencers, and they were often clumsy with silencers. Too much noise meant that Walkers were drawn to places where they hadn't been drawn before. Ammunition for guns was a one-time use item, and this wasn't a world where such luxuries were regularly available.

The place they'd stopped on their way up to the mountains had yielded a good number of weapons in addition to Carol's now-prized knife. None of the weapons they'd gathered, however, were guns. People had cleared those out first, of course, because they'd been the most obvious weapons. Everyone knew about guns. They were the first thing that people laid their hands on and, now, they knew that they were the least useful.

The bags they'd packed into the back of the truck held blades of various shapes and sizes to suit any need or skill level. They'd gathered up several kinds of bows and arrows, and Daryl had even found a few crossbows that were nice enough to keep in reserve in case something were to happen to his current preferred one.

Without any of the necessities—like wood and meat—to prepare them a really nice breakfast, Carol had done the best she could with all the ready-made foods that they had in storage. She'd fed them well enough that Daryl wasn't complaining. T-Dog, still thrilled with being allowed to eat his fill at every meal, wasn't complaining either. Immediately following breakfast, T-Dog had set to work picking clean some of the cars in the parking lot, and Daryl had taken Carol and a few of the weapons out to the wooded area nearby so that she could practice using them.

Daryl favored a crossbow for the power it had. He favored a crossbow, as well, because he felt that he wasn't as accurate with a standard bow as he was with a crossbow. Everyone, he understood, had things that just felt right in their hands. Almost immediately, it was clear that Carol favored a bow. She'd rejected the smallest crossbow that Daryl had as soon as she'd shot one bolt into the space around them. The bow she seemed most drawn to was a wooden self-bow that was primitive, but a nice piece of craftsmanship.

Daryl might have steered her away from the weapon in light of the difficulty that he'd had in the past trying to accurately shoot such bows, but Carol's first arrow had sailed fairly straight and landed within three inches of her intended target—which Daryl considered a fairly good show for a first arrow.

Instead of trying to talk Carol into what made him more comfortable, Daryl accepted that everyone was different. He turned his focus for the day, instead, to making her better with the weapon she chose. He understood, after all, how to use the weapon even though it wouldn't be the one that he would choose for himself. He tore bits off of some old towels to make her a protective cuff for her arm—deciding that a much nicer one could be made or found for her soon, since it was clear she would be using it a great deal—and then he spent the bulk of the afternoon teaching her how to hold her elbow, reminding her how to hold her face to get the truest view of where the arrow would go, and watching her send arrow after arrow sailing toward various targets that he assigned her.

It was Daryl who had ultimately speared the five rabbits and ten or fifteen squirrels that they gathered in a sack for dinner, but Carol had come close to catching a couple of them with her bolts, and she'd certainly sent more than one of them scurrying right into the path where Daryl could hit them.

"It's only your first day," Daryl reminded her when he caught her looking somewhat mournfully at the squirrel that she picked up—bolt and all—to drop in the sack for later cleaning. She looked at him in question and raised her eyebrows at him. "You're sad because—you didn't hit it? Or you're upset 'cause the bushy-tailed rat is dinner?"

Carol looked like she was caught between laughing to herself and crying for a split second. She immediately cleared up the expression.

"I didn't hit my target," she said. "Not even once."

"That ain't so," Daryl said. "You might notta got a bullseye, but you hit the target."

Carol's face was set in a frown. She could pretend that she wasn't upset, but she couldn't entirely erase what she was feeling. She went after another of the animals designated for their meal and Daryl stepped over to pick it up before she could reach it and bend down to get it.

He caught her eyes when she looked at him with some kind of annoyance after he intercepted her self-appointed task. He smiled at her.

"You've got a good eye," Daryl said. "And you're steady. You got good potential to be like a marksman."

Her cheeks blushed pink and she looked away from him for a second before she looked back at him. The frown was gone and, in its place, was the slightest hint of a smile.

"Now I know you're just trying to make me feel better," Carol said.

"You think I'd lie?" Daryl asked.

"A marksman?" Carol asked with a smirk.

"What would I gain by lyin'?" Daryl asked. "Gonna have you out there with my ass needin' you for backup—you think I'm going to gain something by tellin' you that you can do somethin' you ain't really capable of doing?"

"I didn't hit anything," Carol said.

"First time I shot anything, I didn't hit shit," Daryl said. "Second and third time, neither. Hell—you in the neighborhood and that's good enough for the first time out. Today was more about seein' what felt good in your hands. What felt good up here." Daryl reached his hand out and touched the side of Carol's head, just at her temple. He didn't miss that she flinched slightly and closed her eyes for a fraction of a second before his finger made contact.

Her now-dead-and-rotting asshole husband had taught her to have that reaction and once, on Hershel's farm, Daryl had accidentally reminded her that he was capable of anger, too, that could come with threats.

He was capable of anger—copious amounts of anger—and he was capable of making threats, but he knew himself well enough to know that he would never go through with them. He had promised himself, watching his mother and his father while he'd grown up, that he'd never put his hands on a woman in that way. Merle, too, had made him swear it the same way that other brothers might have sworn blood oaths over stupid promises made around campfires. It was a promise they'd made with each other—the Dixon stigma of being a woman-beater ended with them.

And Daryl would never hurt Carol. Not on purpose.

He sometimes thought of touching her—more so than the touch required to change the position of her arm or chin while she aimed the bow and more so than the touch required to get her attention like he was using now to signal her temple—but he never thought of touching her roughly and cruelly.

He couldn't admit to her, though, how he thought of touching her.

And convincing her that he'd never touch her with cruelty in mind was something that she was only going to learn as time passed and she witnessed what he did—or rather, what he didn't do.

For now, he accepted the flinch, and he didn't say anything about it. He simply offered her a half-smile when she opened her eyes to him and realized that he was only gently touching her temple.

"Right here," he said softly. "This is where the most of it takes place. This is where you decide what feels good on you. Where you decide—what'cha can do. What kinda skill you got. You see it here first, an' then…" He took her arms and she watched him as he slid his hands down her arms and caught her hands. He squeezed her fingers in his hands. He liked touching her and, as soon as he thought of that, he shivered. He hoped she missed the shiver and the fact that his saliva caught in his throat and nearly choked him. He was thankful that he was able to get it under control before he sputtered and choked and embarrassed himself. "You see it up there. You believe it. Then it comes out here." He finished.

Carol smiled at him, but she didn't take her hands away from him. She didn't try to pull away in the slightest.

"If you'll help me clean these," she said, "I'll get them cooked."

Daryl nodded his head.

"We'll need to help T-Dog with the cars," Carol said. "It isn't fair for him to handle all that on his own."

"We'll help some this evening. Then, tomorrow," Daryl said, "you'll practice in the morning. Then—we'll help with the cars again. Gather supplies."

"Siphon gas," Carol said.

Daryl shook his head.

"You gather supplies," he said.

"I can help with the gas," Carol said. "I've done it before."

Daryl shook his head again.

"That was before we knew…" he stopped and gestured toward her belly. "Don't wanna take no chances. You ought not even be around the fumes. You sure as shit ought not to be puttin' it in your mouth."

Carol smiled softly and nodded her head.

"Fine," she said. "I'll cook and—search for supplies. Organize it."

"And practice," Daryl said.

"And practice," Carol assured him.

"Because practice makes perfect," Daryl said. "An' I weren't lyin' about you bein' some kinda potential marksman. You keep going, and you'll see. You're gonna be our secret weapon."


	11. Chapter 11

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**We've got a little relationship building before there's too much action (if you've read anything of mine, you know how I am about that kind of thing) so bear with me here! **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"People sure do pack a lot of shit," T-Dog mused.

The decision to break into the room next to them which, thankfully, was also free from Walkers, followed their return to find that T-Dog had barely begun to pick cars clean and they'd already hit the proverbial jackpot of supplies from vacation-bound travelers.

Now T-Dog was sitting on the bed in their claimed motel room, organizing and reorganizing a small stash of candy bars that he was considering consuming for dessert. He was also working his way through the Payday bar that he'd already ripped open.

On the other bed, Carol was stretched out in pajamas that were new to her—pajamas that she'd seemed quite happy to find in one of the suitcases they'd burrowed through. She was watching T-Dog because he was the one that had been doing most of the talking, and she was absentmindedly trailing her fingers around and around the small swell of her belly.

"I'm talking half the stuff on that bed in there? All those boxes of food? They all came from the same car! The same one! The whole back of that SUV was loaded down with food. They must have thought there weren't any stores up here."

"Or they knew what was coming," Carol offered with a laugh.

"If that was the case, then it sure ain't done 'em no good or it wouldn't be in our storage room," Daryl said from where he sat in the orange vinyl covered chair that the motel room offered, he kept it sitting in the doorway so that he could be in the room, but also see out. He could also smoke there without feeling like he was bothering either of his travelling companions. He lit a cigarette for himself and gazed out the door. "The fires are burning out there again. Just over that ridge over there. If I had decent binoculars, and not those cheap ass ones we got, I believe I could see the camp."

"There's way more than one fire," T-Dog said. "Way more than one camp."

"I saw three earlier," Carol said.

"There's more than three out there," Daryl said. "If you count all the smoke columns. They spread out, though. I was talkin' about the one that looks like it's straight out over the ridge from here. Big camp."

"There's more than one fire at that camp," T-Dog said. "I could see it earlier while you two were out shooting. Even with the daylight, I could see the white smoke."

"Then they was wrappin' up breakfast," Daryl said. "More than one fire, that close together, and it's one camp. You can be sure of that. Might be a big camp, but it's one camp." Daryl tipped the chair back so that the back of it touched the open door behind him. He toyed with the lighter in his hands—it advertised a local gas station and he'd found it in a cup holder. "I got somethin' to put on the table. Somethin' I been thinkin' about. And you can both veto it or whatever but…"

"You got somethin' to say, man, just go ahead and put it out there," T-Dog offered. Carol hummed her agreement and gave Daryl her undivided attention. They both did. So he studied the lighter to keep from having to make direct eye contact with either one of them.

"I don't mind bein' alone," Daryl said. "Better than being in the company of some damn body you can't stand. But there's strength in numbers and we know that. Lookin' out there right now, there's a buncha camps spread out. More'n three. Damn near looks like stars settled down in the mountains. Could be one or two people bunched around each fire, but from the looks of it—ya know—they just keep on keepin' on. They ain't tryin' too damn hard to hide them fires."

"Unless they know they don't have any reason to hide," T-Dog offered. "We don't know how many people belong to each camp. Or what they've got to protect them."

"My point is that—I think we oughta keep this place for a while," Daryl said.

"I thought we were going to," Carol offered.

"We said a couple days," Daryl said. "Practice with the weapons. See if we could get everybody up to some kinda skill level so we were all—you know—confident. Clean out the cars. Gather supplies. Find somethin' else."

"That's the plan," T-Dog said.

"You're wanting to live in the motel?" Carol asked.

"Winter's coming," T-Dog said. "And it's going to be a helluva lot worse here than it was in Georgia. We can't build a fire here. We'll freeze to death in this room."

Daryl laughed to himself and let the chair fall forward to rest all four legs on the floor.

"I weren't talkin' about livin' here forever," Daryl said. "And believe me, I was already thinking about the winter, too." He tossed the lighter at the table, some distance away, and it skittered across the surface and slid off onto the floor. He frowned at it when it made its landing and settled somewhere just under the edge of the bed that Carol was using. "What I'm gettin' at, and maybe I'm just gettin' there like way too slow, is that there's people out there. There's groups out there that's settled enough they don't look like they're movin'. Maybe—instead of strikin' out to find somethin' on our own and just addin' our fire to the blanket of stars around here—maybe, we kinda start branching out. Not to find our own place, but to find out if there's one of them places that looks like we might kinda fit into it."

"See if there's a group to join," Carol offered.

Daryl nodded his head.

"That big group is big for a reason," Daryl said.

"Or they're three people who can't agree on a single damn thing so they have three fires," T-Dog said with a laugh. "We just assume they're big."

"So you're against it," Daryl said.

"I didn't say that," T-Dog shot back.

"Well that's what I'm hearin', so you tell me if I'm wrong," Daryl responded.

"I'm just saying that maybe we find a group out there that's jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire. We haven't been gone that long from Rick's little dictatorship. I'm kinda liking what we got here. It's not a bad thing. I'm not anxious to get right back under some kind of regime that requires me to give up my bed, every single comfort I find, and most of my food just because some bitch went and got herself knocked up." Immediately T-Dog stiffened and looked at Carol. She was looking at him, too. Daryl couldn't tell what the expression on her face meant, exactly. More than likely it was her best attempt at being entirely expressionless. "Sorry," T-Dog said sincerely.

"It's OK," Carol said softly. She shrugged her shoulders. "That's what it is, right? I…" She hesitated oddly for a moment and then she smiled to herself. "It doesn't matter. I got knocked up. That's my problem. That shouldn't be yours."

Carol got up off the bed. She was wearing socks, but she wasn't wearing shoes. That didn't seem to bother her. She walked very quickly over the small space between her bed and the door, and she practically fell over Daryl as she did her best to crawl over him and get out the door. She was in such a hurry that she mumbled something like an apology to him, but climbed over him quickly enough that he couldn't even really offer her help.

As soon as she she'd cleared him, she rushed out the door and down the walkway. She offered no other response to T-Dog's repeated attempts to apologize and soothe things over. Daryl leaned his head out the door just far enough to see that, even though she rushed down to the end of the walkway to put some distance between them, she wasn't running away from the motel entirely or putting herself in any great danger.

More than likely, she just needed a minute, and then she'd be back.

"Shit, man," Daryl said. "You think you might—think about thinkin' before you open your damn mouth sometime?"

"I wasn't talking about Carol," T-Dog said. "I was talking about Lori. I was talking about the chance that we run into a group where the situation is just as bad as it was with Rick running everything. Maybe we run into a situation that's even worse. My point was just that we could get out there and we don't know what kinda people might be in those groups. We don't know what kinda laws they're living under."

"And what you said was that the worse thing that could happen was we end up in some group where some dumb ass women went and got their asses knocked up—all by themselves—and you're the one who has to end up puttin' up with that shit," Daryl said.

"That's not what I said," T-Dog declared, some anger leaking out in his tone.

"That's sure what the hell it sounded like," Daryl responded. "Listen—I don't think you gotta tell nobody here that'cha don't wanna live with the likes of Rick again. We know that. We don't want it either. That's why the hell we left. I didn't think it was somethin' I needed to say that if we got out there an' we found these groups and…and they were just as bad as what we left? We wouldn't fuckin' stay! Maybe we wouldn't even approach 'em. We'd keep our distance. At first. Watch from far out 'til we decided it was right to approach 'em and ask for more information. And if we gotta split? We fuckin' split. Just like we done in Georgia. Find our own damn place. And if they assholes? Real assholes? Like the kind that we know right away that we don't want shit to do with 'em and they no damn good? We stay the fuck away from 'em."

"Calm down, Daryl," T-Dog offered, softening his voice from the tone he'd used before.

Daryl didn't realize, until T-Dog said that, that he was steadily growing angrier and angrier about the situation. He didn't care that much that T-Dog had his reservations. He didn't really care that he'd been cut off before he was able to explain everything that he'd been stewing over—about what would be the best way to find them protected and provided for throughout the winter and, hopefully, for some time to come after that.

What he cared about was that Carol was down at the end of the walkway—staring out over the side of it like she was aching to drink in more of the same view that they'd already seen—with her feelings hurt.

Daryl didn't want her to have her feelings hurt. He knew she'd been hurt enough—in more ways than one—and he didn't want her to be hurt anymore.

And the thought that T-Dog, or anyone, had done anything to hurt her—especially because he hadn't listened to everything that Daryl had to say and he was too busy being worried about things they weren't going to let happen anyway—evidently made Daryl much angrier than he'd imagined it might.

Daryl checked his anger. He sat still in the chair and reminded himself to calm down. When he felt a little more centered. He shook his head.

"Sorry," he offered. "But you ain't had no damn right makin' her feel like you did."

"I wasn't even talking about her!" T-Dog declared again.

"It don't fuckin' matter!" Daryl spat. He reminded himself that he was trying to stay calm. He was trying not to be angry. "It don't matter that you was talkin' about someone else. You were talkin' about somethin' that could be applied to her. Somethin' she could relate to. It don't matter that you didn't call her by name, it still struck a nerve and—from the way she got out this door? I'd say it struck a pretty tender damn nerve."

"I'd say it struck a nerve that was a little too tender," T-Dog said. "I might have set her off, but that wasn't all about what I just said."

Daryl was struck by T-Dog's tone and facial expression. His stomach tightened in response.

"What do you mean?" Daryl asked.

"I mean what I said," T-Dog said. "She was pissed about what I said, maybe, but that wasn't all of it. There was more to that reaction."

"You think…there's somethin' she ain't sayin'?" Daryl asked.

T-Dog shrugged his shoulders.

"I wouldn't be surprised," he offered. "That or—hormones, but I know better than to include that possibility anywhere in the same neighborhood as my apology." He sighed. "Look—I'm really sorry. I really am. I didn't mean anything by it. Didn't mean to stir her up or start shit." He started off the bed. "I'm going to apologize, but…if she's needing someone to talk to, she might prefer it if you were the one that went out there right now."

Daryl's pulse kicked up. He almost felt a little lightheaded. There was simultaneously nothing that he wanted more, and nothing that he found more terrifying, than to go out there and comfort Carol. It made his stomach ache and his throat dry to even think about it.

"Why would she care if it was me she talked to?" Daryl asked.

T-Dog laughed to himself and he shook his head like it had been Daryl that had said the stupidest thing uttered that evening and not himself.

"Because you're like—her best friend," T-Dog said. "Or something. She told you her secret first, after all."

"She didn't mean for me to find out," Daryl offered.

T-Dog laughed to himself again. It was the same laugh as before.

"She's been hiding that pregnancy for like—probably five or six months, Daryl," T-Dog said. "Right up under everybody's nose. She's bunked with you pretty much every night since we left the farm. You really think that you finding out, when you did, was an accident? You really think if she didn't want you to find out, you'd've found out?" Daryl's stomach responded to what T-Dog said, and his muscles felt a little jittery, too. "I'm going to apologize. When she's had a little time to—handle whatever she's out there handling. But—if she wants to talk about it? I'm pretty sure she'd rather talk to you." He hesitated a moment. "Unless—you don't want to go."

Daryl got to his feet. He moved the chair out of the doorway so that he could close the door behind him. There would be no need to keep watch with both him and Carol outside the room.

He didn't say anything else to T-Dog about it. Instead, he gathered up his cigarettes and the lighter he'd lost so that he could have an excuse to be out there in case Carol didn't want to talk, and then he slipped out the door, closed it behind him, and made his way down to the end of the walkway.

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**AN: Yes, I used a little nugget from that trailer. **

**I hope you enjoyed. Let me know what you think! **


	12. Chapter 12

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Daryl padded down to the end of the walkway and, still allowing some distance between himself and Carol, stopped to light a cigarette. She had her back to him. She was looking out over the side of the walkway like the view in that direction was anything spectacular and not a practical wall of trees that separated it from what would have once been gas stations and fast food chains.

"If T sent you to apologize," Carol said, "I don't need it. Really."

Here voice was soft. A little wobbly, perhaps.

"I come out here to smoke a cigarette," Daryl said.

"All the way down here?" Carol asked, her back still to him.

"I wanted to stretch my legs," Daryl said. "See new things. Don't come down this side too much. It ain't all about you, you know."

Carol laughed quietly.

"It's not all about me," she mused.

"I mean—but if you wanna talk about it," Daryl said. "You wanna talk about it?"

"About—how it's not all about me?" Carol asked.

"Smart ass," Daryl offered.

He took the chance to close the distance then that he'd established in the beginning. There was more than enough room for him to stand beside Carol. There was more than enough room for him to lean on the same railing that was supporting her so that he could share her view of the wall of trees. She moved over, when he reached her, to make just a little bit more room for him and to make it clear that she was allowing him there.

"What is there to talk about?" Carol asked.

"Why you got so upset, for one," Daryl said. "I mean—I get it. T didn't think that one out, but'cha damn near broke your neck tryin' to get away."

It was dark. Still, the stars and the moon were bright enough that Daryl could somewhat see Carol standing next to him. Maybe he couldn't make any details out about her, but he could tell when she looked at him when she looked away. She was looking at him.

"I needed a minute," Carol offered.

"Still need one?" Daryl asked.

"You can stay," Carol said softly. "If you really want to," she added as an afterthought.

"You know he weren't talkin' about you," Daryl said. "He was talkin' about Lori more than anybody."

"And anybody that got herself knocked up, right? Anyone who brings that inconvenience," Carol said.

"You think T really meant that?" Daryl asked. "About you?"

"No," Carol admitted after a moment. "Maybe I'm just sensitive."

"He mighta mentioned hormones," Daryl said. "He mighta also mentioned that he weren't gonna say that."

Carol laughed, much to his relief, rather than being offended by it. Daryl moved his body enough to affectionately bump her when she fell silent and contemplative.

"I know there ain't that much to look at," Daryl said. "Because I can see it, too. Just trees. So if you got somethin' to get off your chest—there ain't no need for secrets no more."

Daryl knew that he was urging her to share her secrets when, in reality, he couldn't say that he'd shared his in good faith. The truth of the matter was that he was harboring a secret that was, arguably, nearly as big as the one that she was carrying. The difference was that her little secret would only bring another innocent life into the world. His secret could very well cost him the friendship, as T-Dog had called it, that he'd found with the woman next to him.

He'd rather hold onto the secret than lose what he had. Something, after all, was better than nothing.

And he wanted her to allow him to help her carry her burdens if she felt he could be trusted with such a thing.

"You really want to hear what's on my mind?" Carol asked. "You mean it? Because—if you're just trying to be nice, I'll set you free. Let you go back to the room."

"Scout's honor," Daryl teased. "I mean it. Whatever it is. Lay it out there."

Carol sighed. She took a moment getting around to anything. She rocked on her feet and twisted in place. Finally, she got still again as she leaned against the rail.

"I never meant to get pregnant," Carol said. "I got pregnant once after Sophia. She was—about six years old."

"What happened?" Daryl asked.

"I had an accident," Carol said.

"Accident? What kind of accident?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"The kind where—I told Ed about the baby," Carol said. "Money was tight and—Ed didn't like me working."

"Sound like he didn't like you do anything," Daryl offered. Carol hummed in response. "What happened?"

"Does it matter?" Carol asked. "It was too early for there to be—for there to be much to…it was just early."

"You don't gotta so no more," Daryl said. "Unless—you want to."

"Sorry you offered to listen, yet?" Carol asked with a laugh.

"Still here, ain't I?" Daryl responded. "Go ahead," he urged, wanting her to understand that he really did want to hear whatever she needed to get off her chest. He understood that, sometimes, it felt good let it out. Whether you let it out by hitting something or screaming or just saying it out loud to yourself, it felt good to let it out. "That—was the only time?"

"And this one," Carol said. "I didn't exactly remember to bring pills. I didn't mean for it to happen, but I didn't stop it. I thought about it, but when Ed wanted something, he got it. One way or another. He'd've been pissed to find out I got pregnant." She laughed to herself. "I was stupid enough to get pregnant. He would've said—I went and got myself knocked up."

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"T ain't—he weren't thinkin'," Daryl said.

"I know," Carol said softly. "That's why I'm not mad."

"You somethin' worse than mad," Daryl said.

"Am I?" Carol challenged.

"Hurt," Daryl offered.

"You're very observant," Carol said. "Astute."

"And I got a decent memory. You said you wanted this baby," Daryl said. "You still feel that way?"

"More every day," Carol said without hesitation.

"You know…what happened with Sophia…"

"She's gone," Carol said. "Talking about her won't bring her back."

"It won't," Daryl said. "But—you'll feel better if you talk about her."

"How do you know what I feel?" Carol asked.

"I don't," Daryl responded quickly. "I don't. But I know that—pretendin' she didn't exist can't make you feel good. I know that not talkin' about her can't make you feel good. You was a good Ma…"

"If I was such a good mother," Carol said, in an oddly calm tone, "then she would still be here."

"That shit's luck of the draw," Daryl said. "You was—the best Ma I've ever seen in my life. Hell—she damn near didn't leave your sight."

"Until the day she did," Carol said. "And then—I never saw her again. Not until…"

Daryl heard her voice crack and he shushed her. Comforting people had never been something he felt that he was particularly good at doing. His mother, he remembered, was good at comforting him when she was able. But he'd been pretty young when she'd been gone and her comfort had run out. That left only Merle to teach him such things and Merle was better at tough love than anything else.

Tenderness was something that was never abundant in the Dixon household, though Daryl often wished there was such a thing as a place where he could drink his fill of it without feeling that he was, somehow, less able to handle whatever the world threw at him.

He reached a hand out and patted Carol's back and shoulder affectionately.

"Weren't your fault," Daryl said. "I wanted to bring her back to you…"

"But you couldn't," Carol said. "She was gone. She was—already gone. From the moment she went over the guardrail she was never coming back to me." She swiped at her face and Daryl rubbed her back because he didn't know what else to do. He didn't know how else to comfort her. She wouldn't want to hear that his own throat ached over the loss of the little girl. She wouldn't want to hear about his pain—how much it hurt him because he couldn't bring her back to Carol when he'd dreamed about the look on her face when he came, carrying Sophia in his arms. He'd dreamed some foolish dreams about how Carol might react.

He'd dreamed the kind of dreams that would have had his brother saying they'd do good to cancel the damn Hallmark channel that the both of them watched far too often while they pretended there was nothing else on television that was worth watching.

He'd dreamed that Carol—so overtaken with happiness to have her daughter back—might kiss him for bringing her back. Really kiss him. And then…and then what? She'd tell him that she loved him. That she dreamed of him and watched him just like he watched her. She thought about him like he thought about her. She'd share with him the fact that she had exactly the same secrets as him and, when that reveal was done, they'd instantly become a family. Maybe, even, she'd be carrying a baby before long, just like she was doing now, but it would be his.

And she wouldn't be lamenting, while leaning over a guardrail, the fact that she hadn't meant to get pregnant because they'd be too damn happy about the child.

"I told you—I'ma do what I can to make sure that…nothin' happens to this one," Daryl offered.

"That's sweet," Carol said. "But—it isn't your responsibility. It's mine. I—got pregnant. I've got to deal with it."

"That's ridiculous," Daryl said. "First off—every damn body knows you ain't got pregnant on your own. You ain't an earthworm. And even if you did—I'm makin' it my responsibility."

"Why?" Carol asked. She straightened up from her position. She stood facing Daryl. He didn't have to see her in great detail to know that she was staring at him expectantly and waiting. He swallowed. He realized that he had backed himself into a corner both literally and figuratively. He considered his possible answers and her possible responses. The answers he most wanted to give didn't necessarily seem like they'd get the most desired responses from her, but he had to say something.

"Because I give a damn," Daryl said, keeping his words firm and steady. She intimidated the hell out of him. She made his insides shake like nothing else ever had—not Walkers or rattle snakes or the Chupacabra that he saw that one time—but she didn't need to know that.

"About—a baby you just found out about?" Carol asked.

Breathing had always been an involuntary action for Daryl, but all of a sudden it felt like his body forgot exactly how that particular skill was supposed to happen.

He was also mildly concerned that he was having a heart attack or a stroke. The side of his face, he was almost certain, was going numb.

But if he had to choose a hill to die on, maybe this was the right one.

"About the woman who's carryin' it," Daryl said. He wasn't as successful at keeping his voice steady, this time, as he had been before. It betrayed him a little. Coming out in the tone of it was the sound of the wobbling that it felt like every muscle in his body was doing.

Carol was quiet long enough that Daryl felt like he needed to prompt her to speak. He needed her to say something. She spoke, though, just before he gathered up the courage to verbally nudge her.

"You don't have to…"

"Care?" He offered when she hesitated. "Hell—nobody has to care. It ain't a requirement. But I do. Maybe—it ain't even a choice."

"It's my responsibility," Carol said.

"You didn't—create it alone," Daryl said. "You shouldn't have to take care of it alone."

"It's Daddy wouldn't have…"

"I don't really give a damn what he would or wouldn'ta done," Daryl said, cutting Carol off. "Sorry, but I don't. You wanna get it off your chest. You do that. Wanna yell about it? Yell. Wanna be pissed? Be pissed. But that's just what'cha need to feel better. More'n that? He don't matter. He's dead. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, it was you that was drivin' a pickaxe through his skull. And if I hadn't known what tent we found him in? Weren't enough left of his sorry ass to even know him. Better to just leave him that way."

His heart was thundering in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears like a river.

"Daryl…" Carol started, but she stopped.

"What?" He asked.

"Nothing," Carol said. "It's—nothing."

"I meant what I said," Daryl said. "You don't do it alone."

Carol put a hand on his chest. She patted his chest. Then she leaned toward him. Every system in his body that was already overreacting cried out just that much more. She pressed her lips to his cheek.

"You don't have to…do anything," Carol said.

"You right," Daryl said. She might not hear his voice shake, but she had to hear his breathing. He couldn't control it. He'd forgotten how to do it before and now he was breathing too fast. It was happening without his input. "I don't have to do shit that I don't wanna do, but I wanna…" He broke off and she didn't push him to finish his statement. She stared at him a moment longer.

"It's getting late," Carol said finally. She hesitated a second, and then she turned to walk back toward the room. "I think—T's got watch tonight."


	13. Chapter 13

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"You can blow the lamp out if you want," Carol said.

She was referencing the camping lantern that flickered on the nightstand between the two beds. It was the only source of light in the room since Daryl had drawn the curtains—leaving the window open to keep some air moving in the room and to allow T-Dog a quick way to get their attention if anything happened while he was on watch—to give the room just a bit of privacy.

Carol had informed T-Dog that she thought it was his turn to take watch for the night. Arguably, it was actually T-Dog's turn to take watch at any rate, but Daryl couldn't help but laugh to himself at the way she'd presented it. As punishment for being inconsiderate, he would sit outside, alone, and stare into the darkness while he waited for trouble and hoped that there was none.

As soon as she'd come in the room and washed off with water they'd hauled up in a bucket, Carol had sat down to go through a few boxes of items they'd found in the backs of vehicles. Undoubtedly, she'd sort the items as she pleased and then she'd take them over to the room that they were using for storage until she needed them.

Daryl had washed off, as well, and now he was lying in bed, pretending to sleep, but he was mostly watching her at intervals.

"You think you might ought to get some sleep?" Daryl asked.

"I'm going to," Carol said. "Unless…you're ready to blow out the lamp now."

"I don't care about the lamp," Daryl said. "I can sleep in the middle of the day if I gotta. I'm just worried that you ain't gonna get no rest."

"I'll get enough rest," Carol said softly. Daryl sat up on his elbow. Carol was folding clothes—tiny clothes—and she was sorting them into piles. She looked at him when he sat up and frowned. "I don't want to keep you awake, though."

"I'm not so tired," Daryl said. He sat all the way up to prove it. "Baby clothes?"

"There was a whole suitcase of them," Carol said. "In that mini-van."

"Got the crib out of it, too, didn't you?" Daryl asked.

"Pack and play," Carol said. "But—it'll be a good crib." She hummed to herself. "I got—a box of toys and some blankets. Bottles and…even a few other odds and ends. All out of that one van."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We'd call that a jackpot," he offered. "But—you're lookin' kinda down about it."

Carol nodded her head. She caressed the item of clothing between her fingers that she was holding. She'd clearly meant to fold it, but she'd gotten sidetracked. Instead of folding it, she was touching it tenderly and admiring the print. Daryl couldn't see it, but he imagined it was ducks or lambs or bears, since most baby clothes seemed to circle around the same common themes.

"There were a lot of baby things," Carol said. "Somewhere in this motel, a family was going on vacation. They were taking their baby. There was a car seat—I got it, too. There were at least four different carriers and—and wraps—for carrying the baby. Cloth diapers and a Costco box of disposable diapers. Bottles and formulas and two kinds of breast pumps." She laughed to herself. "In the whole car there was one suitcase with things that didn't belong to the baby. Things that belonged to—whoever they were. The parents."

"Good shit," Daryl said. "You need stuff for the kid."

"It was probably their first baby," Carol said. "They didn't know what they needed. They didn't know what they liked or what the baby liked. They brought everything—everything they probably got at a baby shower. The baby stuff? It's all for a baby that's smaller than six months old. A newborn."

"The size you need," Daryl offered. He suddenly wanted a cigarette. T-Dog was outside. Carol wouldn't care. Even with the curtain closed, the window was open. Daryl found a ginger ale can that Carol had drained earlier and he took it to the table to sit and smoke. Carol watched him, but it was more with interest to see what he was doing than anything else. "Ain't that—the size you need?" Daryl asked. "Or like—you think it's gonna need bigger'n that?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I hope to God that my newborn doesn't need larger than size six months in clothing, Daryl," Carol said. "If it does? It might be better if you just—go ahead and kill me. You and T can just raise the baby yourselves."

Daryl sucked his teeth.

"Lotta size difference?" He asked.

"Little bit," Carol offered with a laugh.

"Sorry. Hadn't spent a lot a time around kids. Like 'em…just…"

"It's OK," Carol said. "Sophia was…" She stopped and smiled to herself. "Sophia was tiny. Five pounds and two ounces. Even her newborn clothes were oversized. She was perfect, though. She ate constantly and she gained weight quickly. And she was so happy."

"So this one's…gonna be the same size?" Daryl asked. "When it's born?"

Carol dropped a hand away from the garment she'd been toying with and rubbed it across the small swell of her belly—a swell that almost disappeared entirely when she sat the way she was.

"I guess it might," She said.

"Does that make you sad?" Daryl asked. "Or…somethin'?"

"It makes me sad to think that someone was here with their baby," Carol said. "Their brand-new little baby. They had so much hope for that baby. They were so prepared to meet every possible need that baby might have and then some. They were probably terrified to even travel with it and then? This happened."

"Was the van torn up?" Daryl asked. "You an' T cleared that one out. I didn't get a look at it. Was it torn up?"

"There wasn't anything wrong with it," Carol responded.

"So it was packed," Daryl said. "Everything in it. They was either just gettin' here, or they was just leaving. Otherwise—they wouldn'ta left everything they had in the van."

"I guess," Carol said.

"No blood," Daryl said. "No bodies."

"No," Carol said. "Come to think of it—we haven't seen any blood. No bodies."

Daryl shook his head.

"Weren't nobody trapped in their cars," Daryl said. "Didn't nobody die in their cars. Not that we seen so far."

"That's odd," Carol said. She lost interest in the outfit she was folding. She put it on the stack of clothing instead of continuing to toy with it. "On the highway—we saw so many cars. Wrecked. People—dead in their cars."

"Prob'ly waitin' for Walkers to leave 'em alone," Daryl said. "But I got some ideas."

"Care to elaborate?" Carol asked after a moment.

At least she wasn't looking as sad anymore. With something else to think about, she wasn't thinking about what made her sad. She wasn't thinking about some happy couple with their first baby going on their first vacation to end up being eaten by Walkers. Now she was thinking about the mystery of the almost entirely abandoned motel with a full parking lot of packed cars.

Daryl didn't know a single damn thing about what might have happened there, but he had a pretty good imagination. On top of that, he was also fairly optimistic as far as realists went.

And he liked the way that Carol looked when she was happy a lot more than he liked the way that she looked when she was sad. He'd do just about anything to make her look happy.

"Big tourist area," Daryl said. "Lots of busses in and out. The government looks out for areas like this because they know they got high concentrations of people. Up here? They got entire like—like police forces, I guess you'd call 'em. But they—they ride in helicopters."

"Helicopter police?" Carol asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He nodded at her.

"Gotta have 'em," he said. "Up in here in these mountains it can be difficult to get emergency vehicles in and out in a hurry. You get to goin' to fast on them curves an' you gonna lose control. You goin' fast an' then slammin' on your brakes a lot an' you gonna burn right through your brakes. Ain't gonna do nobody no good if you come here in some emergency vehicle that just ends up…slidin' over the side of the mountain or…or somethin' like that. You wanna get saved, not have them kill you some way you weren't already set to die."

Carol considered his words, but clearly seemed to think they were reasonable.

"You think the government sent helicopters?" Carol asked.

"Airlifted the people outta here," Daryl said. "Coulda sent some down out the mountains in trucks. Cleared the area out, though. You see we don't see nearly the kinda signs of panic here that we saw back there in Georgia. Streets ain't full of crashed cars and they ain't lined up empty at the gas stations."

"And the Walkers in the kitchen?" Carol asked. "At the front desk? Why didn't they get out?"

"If they was ever gonna be holdouts when the government come to save people? These mountains is where the people were gonna hold out. I told you that 'fore we got here. Told you in the truck. The people in these mountains—especially the ones that are from these mountains? That's what they did. Some of 'em died, yeah, but it's probably what a lot of 'em still doing. They survived without needin' the rest of the damn world."

"But the tourists went with the government," Carol said. Daryl hummed and nodded. Carol reached down and plucked another garment from the box of baby clothes she'd filled from the suitcase found in the back of the van. She held it up to gesture at Daryl with it. "And they left all their stuff behind?"

"Not a lot of room on helicopters," Daryl said. "Gonna want to get as many people on there as you can. The two of them and their baby? They got on there with everybody else. They was probably thinkin' that there wasn't another thing that mattered—not as long as they all got on the helicopter."

Carol smiled to herself.

"It still seems—haunted. Like I touch it and I can imagine…another mother. This was meant for her child. I just think…what if she lost that baby?"

Daryl's stomach ached. He lit another cigarette like that would settle it. It wouldn't, but he was willing to try.

"Like you lost Sophia?" He asked. Carol didn't look at him. She didn't have to. "I ain't gonna lie. That ain't fair. It ain't never gonna be fair that…there's good mamas that lose their kids. Any mamas that lose their kids 'cause kids shouldn't have to get lost. But maybe you don't think of it that way. Maybe you think—she got outta here on a helicopter. One of the lucky ones. Took her baby with her. An' she'd be fuckin' damn happy to know that—right now? There was a mama who was…well, who was just waitin' to put them clothes to good use."

"Waiting on a second chance," Carol said softly.

Daryl hummed at her because he couldn't speak. He knew he couldn't, and he wasn't about to embarrass himself and try to speak until he'd give himself a moment to get control of the feeling in his throat.

He couldn't really explain the number of packed vehicles they found in the parking lot. He didn't know if people died before they could leave or got trapped in the motel after loading their cars and thinking they had more time than they did. He had no idea what had happened there at all. He was as perplexed as anybody else and it rang true that dead men told no tales. They'd never know what happened there.

But Carol didn't have to know his secret. She didn't have to know any of them.

She didn't need to know he made the story up just to make her happier—to make her sleep better when she finally blew out the camping lamp to face the darkness.

And if there was any justice in the world, she'd get that second chance.

Carol didn't say anything else to Daryl. She abandoned her job of folding and sorting clothes. Instead, she took the tiny stacks of clothes that she'd made and carefully arranged them back in the box on top of the clothing that she hadn't folded. Presumably it was a job she'd finish at another time. She moved the box to the side and walked around to sit on the edge of her bed.

"Are you ready for—me to blow out the lamp?" Carol asked.

Daryl took a final draw off the cigarette that had mostly burned down while it hung between his fingers, and he dropped it into the ginger ale can. He left the can on the table and came around to sit on his own bed. For a moment, he was close enough to her that their knees might have touched if either of them had moved a little forward.

Carol smiled at him. It was sincere in a way that made his stomach flutter.

"Thank you," Carol said.

"For what?" Daryl asked.

"For a nice story," Carol said.

"Just—tellin' you what prob'ly happened," Daryl said.

Carol renewed her smiled. She reached her hand out and touched his knee with familiarity. He liked the touch and she left it there for a moment before she straightened back up. Her smile didn't fade.

"It was nice of you to tell it," Carol said. "But—Daryl? I was there. Outside Atlanta. I know they bombed it. It's—impossible to think they were helicoptering people out of here to take them to some kind of paradise and they were blowing up Atlanta, Georgia." Daryl frowned at her. She didn't look upset anymore, but he hated that she didn't truly have the comfort of the story. "It's OK," she offered. "It's a nice story, and I hope—it's true."

"Whether or not it is," Daryl offered. "She still woulda wanted you to have everything you got."

"I would want—someone to have it," Carol said. "If I had it to offer. So, I'm sure you're right."

She leaned forward and blew out the lamp. Immediately they were bathed in darkness. Daryl could hear Carol moving around, getting comfortable in her bed. He hesitated a moment before he did the same. Finding the pillow and balling it up under his head, he thought about the fact that all that really separated them was a small space—just large enough to place the small nightstand.

"Carol," he said, almost fearing that he would wake her, even though he knew she wasn't asleep. She hummed back at him to give him permission to speak. "Just so you know? I'ma do what I can. To make sure you get that second chance."

She didn't answer him. She'd probably pretend that she was asleep. She wasn't asleep, though, and Daryl knew that she heard him. That was all that was important, really. He didn't need her to try to find something to say. There wasn't anything that she needed to say. All he needed was to know that she heard him.


	14. Chapter 14

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Hey—OK, look here. You still droppin' that elbow," Daryl said. He walked up behind Carol. She felt him take the now familiar position. He gently tapped her elbow and moved it into place. "Keep steady. Let out your breath. Your holdin' it again. Just let it out easy." Carol smiled to herself and followed his instructions. She could almost hear them in her sleep after several days of practicing with him outside of the time she spent on her domestic chores. "Keep your eye on your target," Daryl said. "And just—let your arrow fly."

Carol released her arrow. It made the arc she wanted it to make and it sailed smoothly this time. Her heart swelled with excitement as she watched it fly toward its mark. It almost felt like it was moving in slow motion. And then it sunk into the wood. Carol lowered her bow and frowned at it.

Daryl walked over and examined the arrow before he pulled it loose. He looked at her, laughed to himself, and averted his eyes quickly.

"It was a good shot," Daryl said.

"You say that every time," Carol said.

"An' I mean it every time," Daryl said. "That's the damnedest thing about it."

"It was a good three inches off," Carol said.

"Remind me that I don't want you in charge of measurin' a damned thing," Daryl teased. "It was an inch—maybe an inch and a half off."

"I haven't hit my target once," Carol said. "Not once."

"You ain't hit a bullseye," Daryl said. "You gotta learn—there's a hell of a difference between a target and a bullseye. You doin' just fine."

"If you had that attitude about your aim," Carol said, "we'd all starve to death."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You know how big a deer is? Know why—sometimes—I bring you them fuckers with like six wounds? It's 'cause hittin' your target don't always mean hittin' a bullseye. But it'll put food on the table and, most of the time, it'll stop a Walker."

"I can't hit a moving target," Carol said.

"You don't know you can't," Daryl said.

"I haven't hit a single squirrel," Carol pointed out.

"That's damn near up there with the bullseye," Daryl said. "They small an' they fast as hell. A Walker—or a person for that matter? Don't move that fast an' you probably gonna slow the fucker down no matter where you hit him as long as it's two inches from a bullseye."

"If I hit him at all," Carol said. "T's so much better at this…"

Carol hadn't actually seen T-Dog working with the crossbow that he'd chosen—a smaller and lighter model than the one that Daryl preferred—but she knew that he didn't push to go out and practice. He went with Daryl, from time to time, while Carol prepared meals, but he spent relatively little time firing arrows at the various targets that Daryl had carved into the trees he found acceptable for the practice.

Carol, on the other hand, spent nearly every moment that she wasn't engaged in something else firing off arrows—one after another—to try to get her elbow right, her breathing right, or simply to learn where her eye needed to look. Even while Daryl and T-Dog worked, she stayed close enough to yell for them, in the case of an emergency, and practiced.

But she still wasn't as confident as T-Dog was, and she still wasn't as good as she wanted to be.

"T is happy with mediocrity," Daryl said. "He ain't no better'n you. Maybe worse. It's just—you know them kids that was happy when they got like just above passin' in the class? They liked ridin' along at just good enough? That's T. And he's happy there. He'll get better just 'cause he does it more as time goes on, but he ain't gonna bust his ass if he can get by with what he's got. You, on the other hand, I think you got dreams of grandeur or somethin'."

"I want to have something to offer," Carol said.

Daryl stood, toying with the arrow by using it to scratch the bark on the tree next to him.

"Whether you ever hit the damn bullseye," Daryl said, "you got plenty to offer. Might wanta start understanding that."

He glanced at her. He barely made eye contact, and then he dropped his eyes to watch the ground as he crossed it toward her. As he reached her, he passed her the arrow. She took it and he kept walking, taking his place some few feet behind her.

"Again," he said.

Carol sighed, lifted her bow, and positioned the arrow. Step by step, she went through her mental checklist of how to hold the bow properly and how to hold her arrow. She checked her feet. She drew the string back, checked her stance, and reminded herself to be mindful of her elbow. She set her eyes on the target and purposefully released the breath she was holding.

Maybe Daryl wasn't wrong. Maybe she had something to offer the group even if she never learned to shoot the bow the way she wanted to. Maybe she could offer them plenty even if she never hit her mark. She could, after all, cook for them. She kept their clothes clean. She was good at cleaning the food that Daryl brought her—she wasn't even squeamish. She could build a fire, relatively quickly, in a variety of circumstances. She could catch fish, and she was patient. She could sew and she had tended enough of her own wounds that she'd taught herself to handle almost all minor injuries and a few more serious ones.

She had things to offer.

But she would like to be able to offer protection—from Walkers and people alike. She would like to be able to offer some assistance in hunting so that putting meat on the table didn't always rest on Daryl's shoulders.

She would like to know the feeling of confidence that had to come with raising her bow, choosing her target, letting her arrow fly, and seeing it land true.

She released her arrow. It slipped silently through the air and sunk into the wood. Behind her, Daryl cheered. Carol lowered her bow and looked at him over her shoulder. She couldn't help but laugh to herself at the way that he was sitting there—perched on a fallen log with a cigarette between his fingers—grinning with his crooked ass smile that made just the corner of his mouth turn upward.

"Asshole," she shot at him.

"What?" He asked, laughing quietly. "It's close."

"Three inches," Carol said.

"I bet it was your ex that taught your ass to measure," Daryl said.

"What?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Nothin'," he said. "Forget it. I'ma find you a ruler. Next on my list of useless shit to hunt up in a car. Carol—that shit right there? It's an inch—tops—an inch away from your damn target. Look here—you see this. She this part of my finger?"

"Yes," Carol said, moving her hand to work at the muscles of her lower back.

"One inch," Daryl said. "You look an' you tell me that arrow's further away than this."

"That's more than an inch," Carol said.

"Show me an inch, then," Daryl said.

Carol held her fingers up at the interval that she thought was close to an inch and Daryl snorted.

"That's like—it's like a centimeter or some shit. Carol—you been lied to. This is a fuckin' inch," Daryl said.

"Well it still isn't the bullseye," Carol said.

"Listen—by the time you bringin' that lil' bullseye you carryin' around out here for real? You'll be hittin' the damn bullseye on the tree every time you aim at it," Daryl said.

"Like you?" Carol asked.

"I miss a lot," Daryl said. "An' I been shootin' since—since I weren't hardly able to stay on my feet."

He finished his cigarette and snubbed it out in the dirt between his feet. Then he got up and immediately started collecting up the few items that they'd brought with them.

"We're leaving?" Carol asked.

"Well—speakin' of your lil' bullseye got me thinkin' that…you ain't eat since breakfast. So neither has he. It's about time we take it in for lunch. We got plenty to eat for now, but I'll come out later an' see about somethin' fresh for supper."

Carol watched him gathering up the few scattered bits and pieces of things. He brought his bow and arrows. He brought extras for her. He brought a few different types of materials that he had her practicing with to see what she preferred to protect her arm from the bite of the bow string. He had a bag in case a rabbit or something he might have wanted to eat had crossed their paths.

He gathered all of it up.

And Carol watched him because, if she'd tried to help, he would have told her that he could handle cleaning things up and she probably didn't need to be doing all that bending when it wasn't necessary at all.

If anyone had told her, when she first laid eyes on the Dixon brothers at a rock quarry outside of Atlanta, that she'd come to think of Daryl Dixon as one of the gentlest souls she'd ever met, she'd have told them that they were crazy.

She'd seen it first, though, when her husband had died. Daryl had lost his brother and there was a flicker of something like sympathy there. Maybe the sympathy wasn't so much for the loss as for the type of marriage she'd had. Ed's abuse, after all, hadn't been a secret to the group or to Daryl.

She'd seen his gentleness, many times, when they'd been on the road. It wasn't overt or over-the-top. It was a simple gesture of making sure that she and Sophia got something to eat ahead of him or making sure that they didn't need a hand when they stopped by the road to use the bathroom.

She'd seen it again when Sophia had gone missing. He'd put everything into trying to find her little girl. He'd nearly sacrificed his own life for nothing more than to give her a night of sleeping with hope under her pillow. And in the middle of everything, he'd thought to bring her a flower—just because he wanted it to bring her hope and comfort.

Her ex-husband had taught her that flowers were only lies. They were unfelt apologies for broken bones, black eyes, and dislocated shoulders.

Daryl was far too gentle for those things.

Gentleness, of course, didn't mean delicacy. At the same time that he was the gentlest man that Carol had ever known, he was strong, and hard, and steady. She had seen his back, even though he'd tried to hide it from her, and she knew the truth. Daryl had been on the receiving end of the same kind of cruelty that had given her familiarity with numerous levels of pain and suffering. He'd been raised under it. He'd cut his teeth on it. That was what made him hard. That was what made him a force to be reckoned with when he wanted to make himself into a veritable wall.

And, perhaps, that was what made him gentle as well.

For whatever reason, he continued to show gentleness and care to Carol. He continued to offer her friendship and affection when he didn't have to. He blessed her with easy conversation and he did his best to build her confidence.

Carol didn't know why he cared, but she was thankful that he did.

There was a part of her, though, deep down inside that wanted so much more. There was a part of her that wanted to know how far that strength in him extended—a part of her that wanted to experience his strength with the exhilarating knowledge that she needn't fear it. And there was a part of her, too, that wanted to know how gentle he could really be.

She felt ashamed, sometimes, at the stirrings she felt around him. The desire to simply be close to him—as close as humanly possible—in every way imaginable.

She usually imagined that he would be horrified to know, too, exactly what she thought sometimes when she was watching him doing something as simple as smoking a cigarette or gnawing his cuticle in the way that he often did. Watching him do such things often made her think that she'd like to help him find ways to soothe the compulsion that he clearly had to explore the world with his mouth. She'd like to give him so much to explore that she knew was new and unknown to him.

She usually thought that he would be horrified to know how much she secretly wanted to be so much more to him than just a friend and a travelling companion.

But then, sometimes, he looked at her like he did when he called her name and, seeing her jump, teased her about her daydreams before he told her to come on because it was late for lunch. When she reached him, he bumped her with his arm and smiled at her—just enough of a smile to turn the corner of his mouth upward—and he looked at her. It was a look that lasted a fraction of a second longer than it had to. It was a look that lingered between them a little longer than was necessary, or even reasonable, before he gestured back toward the motel.

And when he looked at her like that, Carol's stomach did a little dance and she wondered if he already knew her secret.

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**AN: Before anyone gets impatient, we are going to learn more about the fires. I promise. And we're also going to learn a little more about what happened at the motel**

**But patience is a virtue! **

**I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **


	15. Chapter 15

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"We send Carol in first, whatever we find," T-Dog said.

It wasn't dark. Not yet. It was dusk. It was the time of night when it became oddly impossible tell colors from shades of gray. It was the time of night when it was difficult to trust your vision.

Daryl was driving with the lights off. The sound of the engine might draw some attention, but it wouldn't draw half the attention that the headlights would draw.

They'd spent a couple of days creeping closer and closer to the large camp they'd set their eyes on. They'd decided to ignore the smaller campfires that dotted the landscape. It was nearly impossible to tell exactly where any of them were at night and, more likely than not, they were farther away than they appeared. It wasn't worth traipsing around, in a place they didn't know at all, to try and find campfires that probably belonged to one or two assholes that couldn't live with anybody else.

They had gotten close enough to the big camp in the daylight hours to see that it was a camp at what had apparently been a type of cabin resort or campground. They'd gotten close enough to tell that it was fenced in. The whole of it was surrounded with wooden fences and, beyond that, there was a barbed wire fence and then a chain link fence.

They were all fairly certain that the barbed wire and the chain link had not been part of the resort to begin with, but rather had been added as things had been settled.

They could see there were people, and they could tell there were animals. It was impossible to tell how many people or animals, though, with their desire to keep a more than healthy amount of distance between themselves and the camp until they decided that they were committed to interacting with the people who lived there.

"We ain't throwin' Carol out some damn where like a sacrifice," Daryl said.

"Did I say fuckin' sacrifice, man?" T-Dog shot back quickly.

"Boys," Carol said, putting just enough warning in her tone to stop them before they got started.

In the cab of the truck, Daryl drove and T-Dog sat pressed against the passenger-side door while Carol practically sat half in the lap of each of them.

"I didn't say sacrifice," T-Dog mumbled like a child who was irritated with having been scolded.

"Don't worry," Daryl said. "We ain't gonna throw you to no wolves."

In an act of comfort, Daryl trailed a hand over and patted Carol's leg affectionately. She liked the familiarity of it, but immediately he pulled his hand back. Maybe he thought better of it. Maybe he thought that she wouldn't care for his hand upon her thigh. She couldn't very well tell him that he was welcome to put it back.

"I know," Carol said, speaking to try and alleviate any lingering discomfort he might feel over what he likely thought was an unwelcome touch. "I don't think—correct me if I'm wrong, T—but I don't think that's what T-Dog had in mind."

"Everybody's soft for pregnant women," T-Dog said. "Pregnant women and babies. They got a free ride to just—walk through this whole world. Easy passage."

Carol laughed to herself.

"There's less that's easy about being pregnant in this world than you might think, T," Carol said. "And having a baby—in this world? It's not all fun and games."

"I didn't mean…"

"I know what you didn't mean," Carol said. She reassured him by patting him in almost the same familiar way that Daryl had patted her. As tightly packed as they were into the front of the truck, there was little else in the way of reassuring touch that could be offered. "And—I think I know what you meant, too. People are more likely to be kind to me than they are to you. They're more likely to take mercy on a pregnant woman than they would on some unknown man."

"You have to be a different kind of asshole to hurt a woman that's growing a tiny, defenseless, little baby," T-Dog said, clearly agreeing with Carol.

"And we all know them kinda assholes exist," Daryl said.

"We do," Carol agreed.

"So whatta we do if we throw Carol out there, T, an' they end up being that kinda damn asshole? What then?" Daryl asked.

"The first thing we do is stop talking about Carol in the third person," Carol offered. "And we stop talking about her like—like the baby in her uterus is going to keep her from being able to make decisions for herself in this whole process."

"Sorry," Daryl offered.

"Sorry," T-Dog echoed.

"It's fine," Carol assured both of them. "It's just—as much as I don't want to be bait, I also don't want to be left out of everything and talked over."

"You right," Daryl said. "You right. You as much in this as we are and you got every right to say what you wanna do as much as we do. So—what do you think?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think—T-Dog is right," Carol said.

Immediately T-Dog laughed and Carol could practically feel Daryl glare at him across her. She laughed to herself.

"Let me explain," she said. "Let me explain. T is right that—I'm less threatening than both of you. Even if I approach this place fully armed, I'm less scary than you are just because I'm a woman. They're automatically going to think that I'm not a threat. I can be talked to. I can be dealt with. If it's a woman that meets me, she gets some—solidarity. If it's a man, he doesn't feel threatened by me. Add in the fact that I've got an extra passenger and…I have a good chance of getting to actually talk to someone."

"What if they're not the talkin' type?" Daryl asked.

"You two will be there," Carol said. "Just behind me. I'll just tell them who we are. I'll tell that we're not interested in fighting. We don't have any reason to fight. We come in peace, or whatever."

"And if you need it," Daryl said, "then we'll step in and help handle things."

"Exactly," Carol said.

"It could work," Daryl said.

"Don't act like you thought of that," T-Dog said. "Neither one of your asses better act like you thought of that. That's what the hell I've been saying and you've just been dismissing me. Send Carol in first. Soften them up with the baby and the pregnant woman thing. Then we all get in to talk to whoever's in charge. It was never about throw Carol out and see if they ate her like a bunch of damn Walkers."

Carol laughed and leaned over, pressing herself affectionately against T-Dog. He relaxed and laughed, too.

"It was a wonderful idea," Carol assured him, straightening up as much as her tight spot would allow. "And I think it's got a chance of working."

"It's got as good a chance as anything," Daryl said. "I just don't want you gettin' hurt."

"I won't," Carol assured him. "Because the two of you have my back."

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They found a place to park the truck that was close enough that they could reach it before they ran out of steam if they had to run for it, but was far enough away that they wouldn't immediately be noticed by anyone at the camp. When they filed out the truck, they spent a moment stretching their legs and Carol slipped off behind a tree to relieve herself while T-Dog and Daryl took care of the one Walker that they saw wandering in the area.

When she was ready, they all went through the weapons in the back of the truck to decide what they were taking with them.

Carol put her favorite knife in her boot. She couldn't reach it as quickly as she could if it was at her side, but her pants covered it and there was a good chance that anyone looking at her wouldn't suspect that she had a weapon hidden in her shoe. A second knife went at her belt and a third she slipped down the back of her pants.

Daryl and T-Dog weren't shy, either, about hiding weapons around their bodies that they could get to in a hurry. If someone was picking weapons off of them against their will, they'd still have a chance at having something they could use.

Carol slipped her quiver on and adjusted it so that it was comfortable before she took her bow.

When Daryl and T-Dog were satisfied with their own arms, they all started through the woods and toward the place where the cabin-resort-turned-camp was situated.

Carol's sense of direction was not as wonderful as she wished it was, and she assumed that T-Dog felt the same. They fell in step behind Daryl. Even though he'd never made the exact walk they were making from the truck to the resort, he seemed confident with every step he took. He seemed like he knew the place as well as he knew the wooded area that surrounded the motel that they were temporarily calling home.

Once, while they walked, they practically ran into a Walker, but Daryl took it down before it hardly had the ability to realize that there was fresh food roaming around in its vicinity.

They took their time. Being off road, Daryl was walking slowly. He turned, once, to warn them to watch their step. The last thing they really needed was broken ankles out here. Once, they reached a sort of washed out spot and Daryl slipped a little as his feet found the mud in the darkness. He'd stopped and helped both Carol and T-Dog across it before he'd gotten in front of them again.

The darkness slowly settled in around them. The coolness settled in around them, too, and Carol shivered at the feeling of the air after the sun was set. It was a reminder that they were doing the right thing. They were trying to find somewhere safe. They were searching for somewhere secure. They needed somewhere where, unlike the motel room, they could keep warm through the winter.

The winter here, after all, would be much harsher than any they'd known in Georgia.

As they neared the camp, Carol could see something of a glow in the distance. She assumed it was a glimpse of the light coming off of campfires. They were the same campfires that they could see from their motel room except, now, they were hardly like stars in the black blanket of the landscape.

Carol could smell the campfire smoke in the air. She could smell, too, the scent of something cooking. She could smell meat cooking.

It was entirely involuntary that her stomach let out a growl that rivaled that of any Walker when she smelled the meat.

The growl was loud enough that T-Dog laughed and stopped his forward progress to stifle the laughter. Daryl, too, stopped. He laughed, but his laughter was little more than a snort that escaped him before he swallowed down his amusement.

"That criticism?" He whispered. "That we shoulda fed you 'fore we left?"

"I'm sorry," Carol hissed into the darkness. Her stomach growled again and she put her hand over it like she could stop it. "Oh—I'm so sorry. It's going to give us away."

"T'll give us away with his laughin' first," Daryl soothed. "It's OK. Sounds like a Walker."

"Sounds like a Wookie," T-Dog responded. "Man—if it's a Walker, that Walker is sufferin'! When's the last time you eat something, Carol?"

"Lunch," Carol said.

"You ate a half can of Vienna sausages at lunch," Daryl said. "You tellin' me you ain't eat nothin' else since then?"

"And ketchup on the sausages," Carol offered.

"Ketchup ain't a fuckin' food, Carol," Daryl hissed.

"Are we going to argue about food, or are we going to go?" Carol asked.

"She's right, she's right," T-Dog interrupted quickly. "We gotta go. Besides—if they worth their salt, they're gonna hear that and they're going to offer us something to eat. The only thing that people are going to find more damn irresistible than a pregnant woman, is a pregnant woman that sounds like she's starving to death."

They did start forward again. They weren't far away, and it didn't take long before Carol could actually see the fences of the resort just beyond what looked like the end of the wooded area. Though it was dark and there was little more than moonlight and starlight in the woods, there was light beyond the fences that somewhat illuminated the area.

"You go on ahead," Daryl said. "Oughta be the entrance up there. If you ain't changed your mind."

"I haven't changed my mind," Carol assured him, taking a second to screw her courage up and say something of a little prayer that they wouldn't run into any trouble. She didn't want anything to happen—and she wasn't ready to lose her baby.

Carol walked forward. The woods ended in an almost immediate break. Carol stepped out onto the road. She looked both ways for traffic—since old habits died hard—and she walked toward the fences. She could see the gate that the group had made.

She almost missed the woman entirely. She stopped, though, when the woman stepped out of the shadows that swallowed her up. Carol saw the light from inside the fences as it glinted on the metal of the large blade.

"Don't come any closer," the woman warned. "Or I'll run you through."

Carol held her hands up in surrender, though she kept enough fingers tightly curled over her bow that she didn't drop it.

"I wish you wouldn't," Carol said. She wasn't even ashamed of the slight shake in her voice. After all, the only thing that people found more irresistible than a pregnant woman who sounded like she was starving was a pregnant woman who sounded like she was terrified. "I'm pregnant. And—I'd really appreciate it if…you didn't hurt my baby."

Although the woman didn't lower the sword entirely, she did swing it enough that she was no longer pointing it straight at Carol's stomach.

Carol allowed herself to breathe.

"My name is Carol," she offered. The woman didn't seem entirely convinced to speak to her. In fact, she startled Carol and Carol backed up a step to show it. She suddenly raised the blade back up like she might really run Carol through.

Carol practically backed into a wall behind her, though, that was none other than Daryl. She realized, immediately, that the woman had only raised the blade again in self-defense. Carol didn't know, after all, if her companions had assumed the same position of surrender that she had and she wasn't turning her back on the woman to see.

"Who the hell are you?" The woman growled.

"Easy," T-Dog said quickly. His tone was light. He was trying to be charismatic. Carol could hear it. "You saw she was pregnant? It's hard to see out here, but…she is. Like really, really pregnant."

Carol didn't expect to have to bite her lip to keep from laughing at T-Dog. She didn't know what really, really pregnant was, exactly, but she'd accept it. She was possibly as much as six or seven months pregnant—she wasn't even sure and none of them had any clear idea of how long they'd been living in this world— and, for T-Dog, that was more than sufficient to be accepted as really, really pregnant.

"Who…are…you?" The woman asked, slowing down her words. She no less growled the words out now than she had before. The blade was still leveled at Carol. If the woman charged, it would be Carol that she literally came through first.

"This is Daryl," T-Dog offered quickly. "He's with her. You know—baby? I'm T-Dog. T. Just a friend and…we don't mean any harm. We just couldn't help but smell the food, and she hasn't eaten in a while."

As if on cue, and as if it wanted to back up her story, Carol's stomach growled loudly at the thought of food.

Carol had no idea what was happening behind her. She had no idea what Daryl's reaction to T-Dog's attempt to paint a picture of three people this woman wouldn't want to skewer might be, but the woman lowered the blade again.

"I'll see what we can do," the woman said. "But—you've got to wait out here."

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**AN: Is it OK if I ask for suspension of disbelief on timelines and such? Everyone, please remember that this is just for fun and entertainment. I'm no professional, and I'm not getting paid for this in any currency beyond your comments and reviews (which are all greatly appreciated). Please forgive me if we lack verisimilitude from time to time.**

**I hope you enjoyed! Let me know what you think! **


	16. Chapter 16

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think. **

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"What the hell are you thinkin'?" Daryl asked, dragging T-Dog just a few steps away from Carol. While they waited on someone to let them in, Carol had found herself a comfortable spot in some nearby bushes to relieve herself, and their stepping away was covered over with the excuse that they wanted to give her privacy and to watch for the return of the woman with the sword. "You just come out and tell Xena the damned Warrior Princess that me and Carol are together?"

Carol was probably mortified that T-Dog would go and do something as crazy as assign them a relationship.

"Which do you think sounds better to someone who doesn't know us at all?" T-Dog asked. "What would make you more comfortable with someone coming in outta nowhere? We're two men and this is our pregnant companion—full stop. Or—this is a happy couple expecting a baby and they let me tag along because they're good people and I'm good people? Besides that, if there's any personality walled up behind that attitude, I wanted Xena to know that I was free for a little getting-to-know-you time. You were the only one responsible for the fourth member of this little dysfunctional ass family."

"But it ain't true," Daryl said.

"And we'll clear things up just as soon as it's safe to do that," Carol offered, appearing out of the brush again. "But if we're going to pull this off? And not get kicked out of here before we even get inside for being dishonest, you're going to have to realize that even a whisper carries."

Daryl's stomach responded to her words, even if his mouth wasn't sure what to say.

If he were going to say anything, he would have been interrupted by the woman with the sword. She returned, accompanied by a man with a heavy beard.

"You can come in," she said. "Get something to eat. But you stay with me."

"We appreciate it," Carol said. "Do you have—someone in charge? A leader we could talk to?"

"He's occupied at the moment," the woman said. The man with the beard clearly took his spot on guard. Like the woman with the sword, he carried a blade. Unlike the woman, his blade of choice was a machete. The woman directed them into the fences. Carol went first and Daryl and T-Dog stuck close behind her. The woman followed them and, as soon as they were inside, the gate was closed—though Daryl truly didn't know if she'd been responsible for closing it or if the man with the beard had done it. Inside, another man was waiting. In his hands, he held another machete.

Clearly, they'd already figured out, like Daryl and his group, that guns were the least useful tools they could have in this world.

"I know you're probably attached to your weapons," the woman with the sword said.

"We are," Daryl said quickly, "and you ain't gonna take 'em away. We don't mean anybody no harm, but that doesn't mean that we wanna walk around here without any way to defend ourselves if it turns out we're the only ones thinking that way."

He looked around.

Just from where they were standing, it was evident that this had once been a really nice place. It was still really nice, of course, given their circumstances, but it had been the kind of place where people who really had money to spend on their vacations rented really nice cabins in a gated community and pretended they were doing something along the lines of roughing it.

From where they were standing, Daryl could tell that there were fires burning and, beyond that, there were lights burning, too. Somehow, these people had at least kept some of the lights on.

"We don't want any trouble," the woman said. "But we don't back down from it, either. We won't take your weapons, but I do need to know what you have. And—I'll even warn you that I'm going to frisk you. So, this is your chance to show us you're honest."

She walked toward Carol and Carol held her hands up like she was assuming the position to be frisked.

"Bow," Carol said. "Quiver—arrows. I honestly don't know how many. Three knives."

"Where?" The woman asked.

"Side, back, right boot," Carol said.

The woman nodded at her. She sheathed the sword she'd been carrying behind her back and Daryl realized why the other man was there. He was simply watching and making sure that, with her guard down, nobody made a move on the woman.

"I have to frisk you," the woman told Carol. "And I'm sorry but—I'm going to have to make sure that…well, that that's just a baby."

Carol laughed to herself.

She moved one of her hands, keeping the one holding her bow up in the air, and lifted her shirt. She exposed her whole belly to the woman and to the rest of them.

"I promise," Carol assured her. "Frisk me if you want, but the baby? It's just a baby."

The woman did frisk Carol. Daryl noticed she was quite thorough with her frisking. There was little reason to lie to her about a blade stuck here or there because she would find it and, it seemed, they weren't fans of dishonesty in the community.

She walked over and stood in front of Daryl. He held his hands out in surrender like Carol had done.

"Bow," he said, shaking the hand holding his crossbow. "Bolts—twenty? Give or take. Knives. Same places as her. But I got a pocket knife, too. It ain't really a weapon, but if you're lookin' hard enough…"

She frisked him quickly. Still, he could tell by her roaming hands that she was set on not missing much.

When she went to T-Dog, he assumed the same position and gave a similar checklist. She patted him down, but he was the only smartass that, when she hit his groin, stepped back on her enough to make her straighten up.

"I didn't know you wanted me to mention every kind of weapon I have," T-Dog teased. "Damn—usually I like to know a lady's name before we get that intimate."

Whatever he'd said might have offended her or embarrassed her, because she immediately responded by walking away from him and drawing her sword from its sheath.

"Asshole," Daryl muttered as he fell in step beside T-Dog. T-Dog just chuckled quietly.

The woman led them toward a spot where several small fires were burning. Around the fires, there were people gathered. They were talking and laughing until they all got near. As soon as they neared them, the group around the fires stopped talking and started staring.

"Good evening," Carol offered as they walked by.

Nobody responded. They didn't divert their eyes, either.

A quick glance around told Daryl where some of the smell of food was coming from. Of the small fires, all but one had something cooking on it. The fire where the bunch of people was gathered seemed like the only one that wasn't being used for more than one purpose at the moment.

They followed the woman toward a cabin. Lights were shining inside the cabin that suggested that there were at least lamps burning in excess of one or two camping lanterns. Through the windows, Daryl could already tell there were people inside, and he could hear the sounds of conversation drifting out.

"You can have something to eat," the woman said, opening the door of the cabin. "This is what we call the main house. It's where we have meetings and it's where meals are served."

She waved them in and they filtered into the cabin much the same way they'd filtered through the gates. Carol went first and Daryl followed right behind her with T-Dog bringing up the rear. As soon as they stepped into what was likely the living room of the large cabin—now filled with tables nearly wall-to-wall, they had much the same effect on the crowd there as they'd had on the crowd outside. Everyone stopped talking and started to pay very close attention to them.

"I'm startin' to get a complex," Daryl mumbled.

"We don't mean to disturb anyone," Carol offered softly. She wouldn't have to speak loudly for the almost frozen crowd to hear her. It wasn't like anyone else was speaking at the moment. "Please—keep eating."

At her beckoning, people seemed to do just that. There was a light din that picked up, but it was nothing like the noise that Daryl had heard before they'd walked in.

"Sit down," the woman said. "Eat. They'll bring you plates. I'm going to see if I can find our leader. He'll want to talk to you if there's any talking to be done."

"Do you have a name?" Carol asked.

The woman ignored her, though. She simply left, sword in hand, without saying anything more to them. Daryl put his hand on Carol's shoulder and pushed her gently toward an empty table. She understood what he was suggesting and she went and sat down. He took a seat beside her and T-Dog took a seat across from Daryl. Sitting by themselves, for the moment, seemed to be the least disruptive thing they could do.

Daryl tried to remind himself that the people around him didn't mean to be rude. After all, they would hardly be warm and welcoming to someone that just showed up on their doorstep. It was healthy to be suspicious until fears were allayed. It meant that they were careful and not foolish—something that Daryl found comforting when he considered being on the other side of things and belonging to the group rather than being an outsider.

A plate appeared in front of Carol almost immediately. Then one appeared in front Daryl and T-Dog before a fourth plate—piled high with bread—was placed between them. Glasses appeared with a pitcher of water. Two of the women who had placed the food practically scurried off, but another remained. She gestured toward the empty chair next to T-Dog.

"Can I sit?" She asked.

"You live here," Daryl offered. "We don't."

The woman laughed to herself, but she did sit.

"I'm Alice," she said. "And the woman that brought y'all here…"

"Xena," Daryl offered.

Alice seemed to find that amusing.

"Her name's Michonne," Alice said. "But—most people that live here only know that by word of mouth, so don't take it personally. Michonne isn't quick to warm up to people."

"But you are," Daryl responded. The woman shrugged her shoulders.

"I like people. It's a personality trait."

"Personality flaw if you know most people," Daryl offered.

Alice wasn't looking at him. She was watching Carol and Carol was eating like the stew that had been put in front of her was the food of the gods and she'd been starving in some dessert for months. It didn't take more than a moment before Daryl was watching her as intently as the woman was. He hated to admit it, but the soft moans of satisfaction she was making had him somewhat glad that the frisking was over and done with—or he might have had a bit more to disclose to their word-preserving gatekeeper.

"Good to ya?" Daryl asked. His mouth was uncharacteristically dry and he filled his water glass, pretending that the choking sensation was coming from thirst for water and not from the overwhelming interest his body suddenly felt in watching Carol enjoy her way through every morsel of food.

T-Dog was eating, but Daryl had yet to even taste the food. He was sure that he couldn't enjoy it half as much as Carol did. The woman across from Carol offered a piece of bread to Carol, sliding the whole plate in her direction.

"Is that bread?" Carol asked.

"Fresh baked," Alice said.

"Oh!" Carol declared, the sound coming out so suggestively that Daryl shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He would have an impossible time explaining to anyone that he'd only just realized that one of his greatest turn ons was, apparently, hearing a woman eat. "This is the first meal that—that I haven't prepared in…"

Carol didn't finish, but she didn't have to. Honestly, the confession made Daryl realize that, though he brought her the food, there had been relatively few times that anyone had reached out to see if she just didn't feel like turning whatever they found into meals.

"Eat up," Alice offered. "Michonne told me about your little one."

Carol hummed. Of course, Daryl was sure the woman was just making conversation. Carol was no longer trying to hide the baby and he wasn't sure she would be as successful at hiding it now as she once had been.

"How far along are you?" Alice asked. "If you don't mind my asking?"

Carol shrugged her shoulders.

"It's hard to say," she said around food. "Since we left—Atlanta? I don't think since the turn. Not that long, but…since we left Atlanta…it could be five months?"

"Six or…or maybe seven," Daryl offered.

"You and your…" Alice gestured toward Daryl and T-Dog piped in.

"Husband," he offered.

Daryl made sure he felt the nudge of his boot under the table.

Alice seemed pleased with the relationship identification, though. Daryl didn't know if it was because she wanted them to be married—if Carol was theoretically pregnant with his child and all—or if it was simply that she liked collecting scraps of information about people.

"You and your husband won't be the only ones expecting here," Alice said. "It's exciting and I don't even think everyone's heard, but our leader and his wife. They have a baby on the way. I mean—she's not very far along. Not at all. Not like you. Really, it's too early to talk about it. I told him that—she's still at a very delicate stage. You know—anything could just happen. But they were too excited to keep it quiet. And it's their news to tell, so it wasn't like anyone could forbid them. So, you won't be the only ones expecting if you stay. And—we've got a lot of people from Atlanta. From Atlanta. From Texas. California, even. All over. You'll see—if you stay."

"If your people let us stay," Daryl said, realizing he better get a word in where he could. "Seems like it isn't up to us."

"Don't let Michonne scare you," Alice said with a laugh. "And don't let anyone else fool you. Once you get to know us and break the ice a little, we're not that hard to get along with."


	17. Chapter 17

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"I've been here since the beginning," Alice said. "I mean since the beginning, beginning. Right here. I flew up here maybe six days after the first reports. Before it even started hitting the news. I came with some volunteers and we didn't know what we were dealing with, really. A viral outbreak. Something, you know, something that nobody knew what to do yet, but…we were here. And things were—they seemed stable for a bit; you know? Just—it looked like we might get somewhere. Get the thing under control. That was before we knew how really just how big it was. Everything just sort of spiraled out of control and it just went downhill quickly. I was one of the volunteers that—imagine it was like standing in front of a burning gas truck. You know those big ass tankers? It was like one of those just burning in the woods on the side of the highway and the fire's just so hot and it just keeps growing and…and basically we're all over there trying to put it out with fifty-cent water pistols from the Dollar Tree."

What their silent gate-keeper lacked in words, their dining companion made up for ten-fold. She was the kind of talker that you could just wind up, let go, and sit back and watch what happened. Daryl liked that kind of talker, really. They could be exhausting when he wanted silence, but when he wanted background noise, they were the best kinds of people to be around. They required truly minimal feedback to provide hours of entertainment and, in this case, more than a little valuable information.

Carol was on her second bowl of stew and possibly her fifth piece of bread. Daryl's greatest amazement was that so much food was managing to fit in a body that he thought of as relatively small—all things considered. She was truly happy with the food, though, and Alice had already brought over a plate with cookies on it that sat as a promise that Carol could have them for dessert—but only after she'd finished absolutely all the stew and bread that her heart desired.

Carol, it seemed, was taking all-you-can-eat to the most literal point that she possibly could.

The stew wasn't bad. It wasn't as good as the stew that Carol made for them, but it was stew that she didn't have to cook and Daryl imagined that might add a layer of seasoning to it that he couldn't quite taste in the same way that Carol could. The bread was pretty damn amazing, and the only thing that kept Daryl from really tearing into the basket full of bread was the fact that he didn't want to feel that he'd taken even a mouthful that Carol might want.

T-Dog, too, was eating, and they were all listening to Alice talk with the same interest that any of them might have paid to their favorite over-dinner television show in a world long gone.

She'd been fairly easy to get going with a few general questions, and now she was handling things herself as long as nobody objected to where she wanted to take the story.

Daryl had learned that the woman in front of Carol was a doctor. A surgeon. By her own admission, she hadn't been as good of a surgeon as she would have liked to be, but the whole dead inheriting the world situation had had drastic effects on her training and practice. Now she was, from what he could tell, a jack of all medical trades.

There were worst people to have in your community than a medical person of any kind, and Daryl could imagine that her skills bought her plenty of patience with her rambling.

He'd learned more than a few other things, too, that he was storing away for when he felt the time was right to direct the conversation toward things he wanted to know.

Directing it wasn't hard, after all, as long as she was in the mood to be swayed in one direction or another.

"Your leader," Daryl said.

It was enough of a nudge that he didn't even need to ask anything about the leader. Instead, he simply pushed the plate of cookies toward Carol since she looked like she was slowing down on the stew.

"Let me tell you," Alice said, taking the bait immediately, "we've been through some leaders here."

"They don't last?" T-Dog asked.

"Never," Alice said. "Well, not really."

"What happens to them?" T-Dog asked.

"Well we don't eat them, if that's what you mean," Alice said with a laugh. She poured herself a glass of water from the jug and drank half of it before she started speaking again. "This one—he's good. I mean since I've been here which, I mean I've been here since the beginning, but since I've been here? There's been like ten leaders, maybe. Maybe more. But you know there's usually more than one screw rattling around loose in that coffee can if they come into a community and they just immediately start bossing everybody around. It's a personality that's going to start doing that. A certain personality. And those personalities are just…they're just…"

"Toxic," T-Dog offered.

It had the same effect as bumping a record player if the record got stuck. Alice looked pleased. She smiled sincerely at T-Dog and nodded her head.

"Toxic," Alice said. "Absolutely fucking toxic. They always create some drama that causes their downfall."

"That sounds a little dramatic," T-Dog said. "Downfall?"

"Shakespearean, really," Alice said. "Starting fights with people when there didn't need to be a fight. Getting too cocky about the Dead. Driving the group to split or breakdown. Even suicide because—well because we're all a little cracked at this point."

"If you're alive, you're a little cracked," T-Dog agreed with a snort.

"But the new guy," Daryl said.

He was pleased. He didn't have to finish the statement. She grabbed onto it.

"I thought he was going to be the same, honestly," Alice said. "Maybe worse. He came in here and he laid low for a few days. Hardly said anything to anyone. You know the type—quiet. Secretive. He just sat back like he was watching it all and taking it all in. At the time the leader was—well, he was really cracked. He started getting some ideas that people didn't like, but it takes time to figure out how you're going to get rid of them. You know? It didn't take the new guy time to figure it out, though. He just—killed him."

"This guy killed your leader, so you made him your leader?" Carol asked.

"It sounds bad," Alice said. "I admit it. I get it. And if I were you…but if you knew—killing him was the best thing for everyone. It was the best thing for him. I mean—I don't promote killing people. I do the opposite like…my job is to keep you from getting killed. I literally try to keep everyone from dying. But he was so cracked that…like he was going to take himself and half the fucking rest of us with him when he went. He was violent sometimes. Handsy for no reason at all. He thought that quiet meant passive, I guess. Made a pass at his wife that it was like a serious pass—but it wasn't like he wasn't doing it every day. To most of the women around here. But she turned him down and he kinda lost his mind and beat her up a bit."

"So, the new leader killed him and took his place," T-Dog said.

"He saw what he'd done to her and he stabbed him through the eye. No hesitation. Right into his brain. Right out there. Right—right in the middle of the common lawn. Nobody knew what to do. And when he was done, he was just like I'm not going to say I'm sorry. Because I'm not sorry—and he wasn't sorry."

"Good on him," Daryl commented. He realized he had more than one set of eyes suddenly burning into him. "What? I'm not sayin' you should go around stabbin' people in the eye. But—if he don't know how to act, and it sounds like he didn't know how to act, then good on him for not just sittin' back an' lettin' him fuck up his wife."

Alice stared at him, flicked her eyes to Carol, and then returned her stare to Daryl before she resumed her conversation.

"Well, this leader is a good leader, really. All things considered. I mean—there's definitely a whole bunch of screws loose—I mean he can be crazy and he's a real fucking asshole when he wants to be, but he's turned a lot of shit around, around here. The extra fences, the guards. And he's fair. We're an all-contributive group. Every single body here contributes something. Maybe what you contribute and what I contribute is different, because we're different, but everyone contributes something. And if you don't contribute? If you think you're getting carried—you're out the gates."

"What if you don't have anything to contribute?" T-Dog asked.

Alice blinked at him.

"You honestly believe there's a person alive today that has nothing to contribute?" Alice asked.

"Babies," T-Dog said. "They take but like—they don't give much. They can't do much of anything."

"New generation," Alice said. "Literally the building blocks of the future or whatever and…I mean we're not putting babies outside the fences. Jesus—we're not animals. In fact, we only have one baby so far. Not of the others—well, none of the others that have come in have made it. We've seen some mothers come in in some pretty poor condition. I tried but, I couldn't turn it around most of the time. Too far gone. But—we're hopeful. We're doing good now. We can start to really look toward the future. But everyone else? I mean little babies and kids and all aside? They can contribute. Even Ronnie—he had a massive stroke. Fucking massive stroke. I mean the fact that the man's alive is some kind of modern miracle. Ronnie washes vegetables when he wants to be outside. He—sits in his chair and he waters plants. He washes dishes. Ronnie is an important, integral part of our society—and we couldn't do what we do without him."

"That's all good and poetic," T-Dog said. "But what about the people that are just flat crazy? The ones that think they're above the common law or whatever?"

Alice laughed to herself. She leaned on her elbow on the table and smirked at T-Dog.

"Did you miss the part where I said—where I said that our leader stabbed a man to death in the middle of our common space? We haven't had anyone buck whatever we're calling the common-law around here in the couple of months since he took over."

"Because they're terrified?" T-Dog asked.

"Look—for most people, it's the idea of keeping what's good, good, that keeps them in line," Alice said. "You eat good food. You eat until you're full. You sleep well. You wake up without the Dead standing over you. You play where its safe. For some of us, this is the first taste of halfway fucking normal that we've had in…it's been a while. If it's fear of a brutal death that keeps the rest in line, so be it."

T-Dog laughed.

"You say that as a doctor?" He asked.

"I say that as a human being," Alice offered, swallowing down the rest of the tumbler of water that she'd poured for herself.

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"Michonne," T-Dog said, keeping close to the quiet woman. She'd sheathed her sword for the job of escorting them to the leader's private home, but Daryl got the feeling that it wouldn't take much to get her to pull it out again. "That's an interesting name. Is there a story behind it?"

"I'm sure it's not half as interesting as the story behind something as ridiculous as T-Dog," the woman muttered.

Daryl didn't even bother to swallow down his laughter.

"You know, T," Daryl offered, "if you was to go back to the mess hall or whatever? I bet that Alice'd find you some ice for that."

"Asshole," T-Dog muttered.

The woman, though, for as silent as she normally was and as seemingly cut off from them as she appeared to be, laughed. It was quiet, and it was reserved, but it was laughter nonetheless.

"So, what'd your leader say?" Carol asked. "About us?"

"He said he would see you, even though it's late," Michonne said. "What else is there for him to say?"

"What'd you tell him about us?" T-Dog asked.

"I said there was a pregnant woman and her husband," Michonne said. "And their friend with a silly name."

"It's short, you know?" T-Dog said.

"Are we still talking about your name?" Michonne asked.

Daryl laughed, but T-Dog shot him something of a warning look.

"It's what everybody calls me," T-Dog said. "Called me. Except my mama. If you—want to be nice about it, though, I might tell you what it's short for."

"It's fine," Michonne responded, "I'm not really that concerned."

Daryl stepped back to fall in step with T-Dog, and he leaned into him so that nobody else would overhear them.

"It's OK, man," he said. "You're doin' great."

"Shut up, asshole," T-Dog bit back.

"No, really. You got her talkin'. Just—maybe you work now on gettin' her not to roast your ass."

Carol engaged the woman, though, to get information she wanted and, perhaps, to save T-Dog from himself.

"What will happen? After we talk to him?" Carol asked. "If he—wants us to stay?"

"Then we'll find you somewhere to stay for the night," Michonne said. "Because it's late and most people are sleeping or getting ready to sleep. We start work early in the morning if you're not on night guard. And then, tomorrow, we'll figure something more permanent out."

"Do we get like—one of these cabins?" Daryl asked.

"Tomorrow we'll figure something more permanent out," Michonne said. It was clear she didn't want to say anymore on the matter.

She mounted the steps of a cabin, then, and Daryl assumed it was the one where their leader must reside. Carol followed Michonne, and Daryl and T-Dog followed close behind until they were all crowded onto the porch.

Michonne reached her hand up and knocked heavily at the wooden door. There was a faint glow of light from behind the curtains that covered the windows. Daryl heard some thumping around beyond the door. Someone was awake. He was expecting them, of course. He'd had plenty of warning that they were coming while they'd been eating.

"It's Michonne," Michonne offered, even though nobody had asked her for her name. "I brought them. The woman and her husband and…their friend."

"I hope to hell you're not wastin' my time at this hour, Michonne," the leader said, even as the door swung open.

Suddenly the stew in Daryl's stomach didn't sit as well as it had, and someone had knocked the air out of him—or so it felt—with a two-by-four. For a moment, he felt entirely outside of himself. He felt entirely outside of the moment. There was no way that it could be real.

"What the hell?" T-Dog said, each word sounding to Daryl like it came out in slow motion.

Daryl already knew the leader's name as well as he knew his own. In some butchered form of baby talk, he'd been told that it had been the first word he'd ever muttered on Earth.

"What the hell indeed," Merle mused, looking no less than staggered.

"Merle…" Daryl stammered out, though he wasn't able to add any more to the thought.

"Is there some kind of problem?" A voice carried from inside the house. The leader had a wife, of course. Daryl had heard it, himself, even if his mind was having trouble making sense of it. "Do you need some help?" The voice grew a little louder. Maybe a touch more frantic or concerned.

"Don't'cha rush or nothin'!" Merle called out. "It ain't no hurry, Sugar. But…" He stopped and laughed to himself. "Andrea? You might wanna come on down. There's some shit you just gotta see for yourself."


	18. Chapter 18

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"You know each other?" Michonne asked.

Like peering into a haunted house, another ghost appeared just behind Merle's back. Her fingers curled over his shoulder as the other hand found her mouth to cover it.

And Daryl didn't know exactly how to answer Michonne or what to do with himself.

"You could say that," Merle said. "This here's my—my darlin' baby brother."

"Your brother?" Michonne asked. It was a rhetorical question or, at least it might as well have been because nobody answered it and Michonne didn't wait for anyone to answer it. "Well, congratulations. You're about to be an uncle. It's late, Merle. So, does this mean you want me to wake someone to—find them a place?"

"It means we got it, Michonne," Merle said. "You can go back out to the fences."

"Bryan already took over," Michonne offered.

"Then you can go get some sleep," Merle said.

"Thank you, Mich," Andrea said. It was the first words she'd said while standing there. It was the first time that Daryl had heard her voice and seen her face at the same time since the day they'd all accepted her death. "Goodnight."

Michonne must have left after her dismissal, but Daryl missed the woman slipping away entirely. He felt absolutely unable to move his eyes from where they'd fixed on sights that seemed impossible.

"You gonna stand out there on the porch all night?" Merle asked. "Or you comin' in where it's comfortable."

He and Andrea cleared the doorway and Carol stepped inside first given her proximity to the door. She walked directly to the center of the living room that they stepped into and Daryl and T-Dog followed after.

Daryl glanced around and, for a moment, tried to take in the room around him. The cabin was a nice cabin. It was large for a couple, but maybe it wasn't too large once they'd started to build a family. Daryl tried to wrap his mind around the suggestion that this cabin wasn't just any cabin. This cabin was his brother's home—a home he shared, at least as the story went—with his wife. There was furniture. It was nice enough. And there were curtains.

Merle Dixon—this Merle Dixon—lived in a house with curtains.

"Thought you were dead," Daryl said, finding his voice or, at the very least, a hint of it. "Both of you."

"Yet here we stand," Merle said. "And we real damn alive."

"Listen—about the key," T-Dog spat quickly. "I swear man, I didn't mean to drop it. I chained the door. Gave you the best damn chance I could."

Daryl watched his brother's face. He saw Andrea's ghost fingers flex as they squeezed his shoulder. He still couldn't fully believe that what they were seeing was real and not some kind of group hallucination that was supposed to allow them to clear their consciences. Daryl's eyes trailed down. Where Merle's right hand had once been, there was a metal cuff. At least their hallucinations were somewhat real—though Daryl saw no evidence of the bite marks that would have killed Andrea if she'd truly been torn apart on Hershel Greene's farm like they'd imagined.

"We come back for you, Merle. Come lookin' for you. But you was already gone," Daryl muttered, making his confession, just in case.

"I thought you were dead," Carol said. "I saw you go down. On the farm. I thought you were dead. They left me and I ran and I left you because…"

"Wanted to go back for you, but…the farm was overrun. Thought you didn't make it out," Daryl offered.

Merle stood there, silent, with his jaw set. He looked over the three of them with gliding eyes. Andrea had dropped her hand from her mouth, but not from Merle's shoulder. She looked like she was moments away from sleeping where she stood. Her eyes, too, glided over all three of them.

"Hell," Daryl said. "Say sometin' or I'ma start to think that—that Alice woman put somethin' in the food. Some LSD or somethin' and we're on some kinda crazy fuckin' trip right now."

"We're a drug free community," Andrea offered. "Except—except for…medicinal purposes. And pot. Jerry grows a lot of pot."

Daryl laughed to himself. He couldn't help it. He laughed and the laughter was contagious, obviously, because Andrea laughed and it slowly spread around everyone gathered in the living room.

"You been dead this long and that's what the hell you got to say to all of us?" Daryl asked.

The laughter was good, though. It broke something. It shattered the veil between the living and the dead or whatever it was that had to happen because Andrea broke loose from her side of things and enveloped Carol in a hug without saying anything else.

And then Merle offered his good arm out in Daryl's direction.

"You got a hug for your brother?" Merle asked.

Daryl sunk into his brother. He felt his arms wrap around him, one at a time, and Merle unashamedly hugged him hard. As Daryl pulled away, he noticed that T-Dog looked like he was just about ready to find a window and jump out. Perhaps he wasn't sure, yet, if they hadn't been drugged with LSD and, if that were the case, he was on about the shittiest trip he could imagine.

"Listen it was a fuckin' accident, man," T-Dog said. "I swear it. I mean—you're an asshole, don't get me wrong and I wanted to punch you in the face a few times but…I never wanted to kill you."

Merle laughed at T-Dog. He laughed at him sincerely and heartily even as Andrea reached him and wrapped her arms around him to offer him some kind of comfort in his crisis.

"I was pissed as hell," Merle said. "After I cut my hand off. After I got out of Atlanta. But it wasn't you who handcuffed me to the roof with the damned Walkers all around."

"And he chained the door," Daryl offered.

"And you chained the door," Merle said. "Feels like years ago. Another fuckin' life."

"You aren't gonna hug me," T-Dog said.

Merle laughed again.

"I wouldn't fuckin' dream of it," Merle said. He offered his hand in T-Dog's direction. "But—as leader of the Cedar Falls community, I'll shake your hand. If you'll shake mine."

"I got so many questions," Daryl said.

"It's getting late," Merle said. "And tomorrow is another damn day. We don't have to answer all the questions tonight." He looked at Carol, furrowed his brow, and then looked at Daryl. "You the husband, lil' brother? That Michonne was tellin' me about?"

Daryl's stomach twisted. His heart squeezed. He glanced at Carol, but she was staring straight ahead like she was terrified to look at him—and he didn't know what terrified her or if she was simply as overwhelmed as he was.

Tomorrow was another day, though, and secrets would keep as well as unanswered questions.

"I'm the husband she was tellin' you about," Daryl said.

Merle didn't say anything. He looked Carol over a moment more, and then he looked at Andrea.

"Andrea'll—show you the extra room. Should be plenty of room for the night. Get you some clean clothes and towels and—the water works."

Merle looked at T-Dog, then.

"You—man—what the hell am I supposed to call you?"

"My name's a good idea," T-Dog said. "Unless we're picking names for each other. You want me to come up with one for you."

"I'm not callin' your ass T-Dog," Merle said. "Michonne was right. It makes you the friend with the ridiculous fuckin' name…unless you're a fuckin' German Shepherd or something."

T-Dog laughed to himself.

"I'm more like a pit bull," he said. "But—if it matters that damn much to you, what if we compromise on T?"

Merle considered it and nodded his acceptance of the name.

"Fine, T—I'm afraid there ain't no bed in the third room right now. You can sleep on the floor. We got blankets. Or you can sleep on the couch."

"It's just for one night," Andrea offered softly.

"The couch sounds good to me," T-Dog assured both of them.

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"If you're pissed, tell me you're pissed," Daryl said.

Carol was pulling blankets back on the bed and rearranging the pillows. They'd both bathed in the little bathroom in the hallway and Daryl was wearing clean underwear provided to him by his brother, but he had little else to preserve his dignity. Luckily, Carol had already seen him in various states of undress. The nightgown that Andrea had given her, too, left much to be desired if she was trying to be modest.

Daryl was trying not to look at her bare legs, but he was failing more than he was succeeding.

"Why would I be pissed?" Carol asked.

"Because—I somehow turned into your husband," Daryl said.

"I'm sorry you had to lie to your brother," Carol said. "But—without knowing the situation, it might have been for the best. I mean—a woman's always been safer around strange men when they perceive her to belong to some other man."

"You mean it makes you feel safe?" Daryl asked.

Carol sat down on the bed and rearranged her pillow so she could recline against it.

"You make me feel safe," Carol said. "But—yeah. I guess it does."

"We're gonna be meetin' a lot of people, if we stay," Daryl said.

"Were you thinking about not staying?" Carol asked.

"You wanna stay?" Daryl asked.

"I thought we would," Carol said. "Besides the fact that…that we know people here? It's—everything we wanted it to be. There are walls. It's safe. The houses have fireplaces and water and lights. There's food and a job for everyone and we could build a life here."

Daryl fixed his own pillow to mirror Carol's as she leaned with her back against it. He sat down on the bed and then he allowed himself to get comfortable in the bed next to her. His stomach felt a little odd at the thought of her words. Build a life, sounded good. It sounded great. But he couldn't help but think that his mind, which was always a bit too overactive for his tastes, ran away with a little too much.

"Yeah," he simply agreed. "We could build a life here. From the looks of it—any kinda life we wanted. I mean it ain't like a lot of the people we meet here even know us."

"It could be a whole new life," Carol said. She brushed her hands quickly and affectionately over her belly. "Start over. Start from scratch. Leave the past where it is."

"Talk to Merle and Andrea," Daryl said. "Hell—it can be a secret. All of it. Nobody has to know anything about who we were or where we come from."

Carol smiled to herself.

"Yeah," she said. "We can just be—who we are. Not who we were." She made a face and pressed her hand hard to her stomach. "Oh, I think—he or she likes that or…or else the baby's complaining about the stew." She laughed to herself.

"It moves?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed again.

"It moves," she said. "Wanna feel it?"

Daryl watched her hand resting on her belly. He was incredibly curious about the whole thing. In reality, he wanted desperately to touch her—and he'd thought about touching her in many ways—but he wanted to feel what it was like to touch her and know that there was a whole other life taking place inside her.

"No," he said. "Nah—I'm good."

"Come on," Carol encouraged. "It's OK, you can feel it. It won't bite. Here…before it stops."

She took his hand and directed him to touch her. He let her and she pressed his hand into her. He could feel the warmth of her skin even through the thin cotton nightgown. He didn't know what he expected, but he didn't expect the feeling of something sliding against his palm like it did—brushing him as he waited for proof of its existence.

"That's fuckin' scary," Daryl said. "Movin' around like that!"

Carol laughed. He liked the sound of it. She didn't release his hand, either, even though the movement seemed to have stopped. He didn't fight her on it. Instead, he moved his hand only slightly and gently brushed it over the soft fabric that covered her belly. She didn't ask him to stop and he didn't.

"It's just a baby," Carol said. "If we're staying—tomorrow we can go back to the motel. Get our things."

"Might get a cabin or something," Daryl said.

Carol looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"Do you think—we'll all live separately?" She asked.

"They'll at least put us together," Daryl said. "Bein' as we're married, and all."

"You don't want to clear that up tomorrow?" Carol asked.

"Like you said," Daryl said, "it's safer for you. For the baby and…I don't really like stayin' all by myself no way. Unless…you wanna clear it up tomorrow?"

She was still keeping her hand over his. He was enjoying rubbing her belly for the uncommon feeling of connection to someone so very alive that it gave him, and she was keeping her hand over his even as he rubbed her. He wondered if she even noticed. She didn't ask him to stop.

"It's not hurting anything," Carol said.

"Then—it'll be our secret," Daryl said. "For a little while."

"I like that," Carol offered. "It'll just—be our secret."


	19. Chapter 19

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here!**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl tried to follow Carol as they stepped into the crowded cabin where some people were arriving to eat while others were leaving. Merle and Andrea had told them little else, when they'd come to wake them, beyond the fact that there were multiple breakfast shifts and they'd make the late one together.

T-Dog got swept into the crowd up ahead and easily slipped into a line that was forming for finding a seat. Andrea and Carol, too, practically got swept away when someone who recognized Andrea dragged them toward some predetermined spot.

Daryl turned when he felt fingers wrap around the upper part of his arm.

"Come sit with me, lil' brother," Merle said. "Got me a table right over there."

Merle's invitation sounded more like an expectation than an invitation, so Daryl followed him. T-Dog could handle himself, and so could Carol. It might do them all some good to have a little distance from one another.

Besides, the only parts of their story that they really needed to rehearse had been run through a couple of times that morning while the three of them were waiting for Merle and Andrea to finish getting ready. T-Dog knew just enough to keep him from putting his foot in his mouth, and Carol and Daryl thought they were pretty well prepared to pull off convincing the crowd that they were married.

Daryl followed Merle to the little two-person table in the corner that Merle led him to. They sat down and Daryl looked around.

"Crowded," Daryl said.

"Three meal shifts at each meal," Merle said. "It's always crowded unless you the night crew. Their meals is a little lighter."

"This your table?" Daryl asked. "You always liked shit like that."

"Shit like what?" Merle asked.

"A certain table in a certain place," Daryl said. "Eat in the same damn spot. Sit in the same damn spot at home, too."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Like this spot," Merle said. "I can see every damn thing that goes on in here. There ain't no surprises from where I'm sittin'. Can pick out a fight if it's about to happen, too."

"Have a lot of fights around here?" Daryl asked.

"Enough," Merle said. "Especially when people are just comin' off the road. Too damn rowdy. Have to get used to a new set of rules. Laws. And a whole fuckin' lotta people. It's a shock sometimes, after you been out there."

Daryl glanced around. The room was crowded, but nobody looked like they were getting ready to fight or even like they wanted to fight. Everyone seemed to be in pretty good spirits. Of course, Daryl was sure the mood was different at different times of day.

There were people shuffling about, putting down plates and glasses and water pitchers—and everything else that someone might need for the morning meal.

"We go get our food somewhere?" Daryl asked.

"Nah," Merle said. "They gonna get around to us, quick as they can."

"Wouldn't it be faster?" Daryl asked. "I mean—if we was to get it ourselves? Then there ain't nobody that's gotta wait on us."

"This ain't a system that was made yesterday, Daryl," Merle said. "Shit was in place when I took over. They tried it the other way—everyone goin' buffet style to fix their plates—but it got outta hand. They was people hoggin' food, bitchin' about portions 'cause they was tryin' to eyeball every plate around 'em. People was bumpin' into each other, knockin' plates outta hands. You know how the hell that is. Goes downhill real damn quick an' the next thing you know, one fucker's done broke another fucker's jaw over cornbread an' milk."

"How many people's here?" Daryl asked.

"Total?" Merle asked. He immediately turned his attention to the young woman, who was probably little more than a child, who put a plate down in front of him. "Thank ya, sugar."

"You're welcome, Merle," she said with a smile. She put a plate down in front of Daryl, too, and he thanked her. His reply from her was not as sugary sweet as the reply she'd saved for Merle. The leader, he assumed, had something of a status around the place. She put down silverware for the both of them. "Elizabeth's coming with the water," she said. "Did you want coffee?"

"Two," Merle said.

"Two cream, two sugar?" The girl asked. Merle smiled and winked at her.

"You know it," he said. "McKenzie, this here's my brother, Daryl. Daryl—this here is McKenzie. She's one of the best people we got on the kitchen staff."

The girl beamed at the compliment and Daryl swallowed down his humor. He cleared his throat.

"Nice to meet you," Daryl offered.

"How do you like your coffee, Mr. Daryl?" McKenzie asked.

Daryl pegged the girl at fourteen, maybe. She was definitely no older than sixteen. She was still trying to grow into her own body.

"You got cream?" He asked. She hummed and nodded. "Just cream's fine with me," he said.

"Lot of it," Merle said. "Daryl likes his coffee like dirty milk."

Their water came before McKenzie could leave the table, and then they were suddenly alone with their breakfast.

"What is this place, Merle?" Daryl mused.

"This here is the Cedar Falls Community," Merle said. "Damn near paradise, baby brother. Gettin' better every fuckin' day. And I'ma make damn sure don't nothin' fuck with that."

"How many people's here?" Daryl asked.

"I don't headcount 'em," Merle said. "Hundred. Hundred and fifty? Give or take. We got some in and out."

"Why the hell would you have any out if it's paradise?"

"Didn't say they always left on their own," Merle said. "Some don't make it. Things ain't changed that much. Still—there's some that get put out. The vision for this place don't allow for certain types around here."

"Vision?" Daryl asked with a snort. "Since when do you sit around talkin' about vision, Merle?"

"I got a lotta damn vision, Daryl," Merle said. "Never mattered before, though. What the hell was I gonna do with vision before, brother? You can't do shit with shit."

Daryl's stomach sunk. His brother wasn't exactly lying. In the world before all this, it would have never done either of them a world of good to have too much ambition. They had to crawl out the hole created by their parents just to start at the bottom of the proverbial food chain.

But here, nobody knew Rooster Dixon. Here, nobody knew how much trouble Merle had stayed in as a kid. Nobody knew that Daryl had never held down a decent job for more than couple months because something always pissed the boss off—and nine times out of ten, Daryl was sure it was some asshole he worked with running and telling stories on his ass.

Nobody knew that neither one of them had ever had a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out of, or that they'd been pretty much seen as failures from the moment they were born just because of the circumstances surrounding their somewhat unfortunate existences.

Here, they didn't carry all that weight. Here, they weren't who they used to be. Here, they could start again. They could all start again.

"What kinda vision you got, brother?"

"Keep growin'," Merle said. "Not like I'ma take over the damn world or nothin'. Just so we always got enough for anybody wants to come in here. We're buildin' the future an' we ain't fuckin' around. Don't tolerate bullshit. You either workin' for us or you workin' against us. Buildin' something we can be proud of. Some shit that our kids can be proud of—a place that makes people still wanna have kids because they can believe it ain't the end like we thought it was."

"You the poster child for that?" Daryl asked. Merle didn't answer him immediately.

Daryl worked his way through his breakfast. He had to admit, the food wasn't bad. It might not have been the best he'd ever had, but it wasn't bad. Instead of answering Daryl, Merle thanked McKenzie when the girl brought the coffee—just the same as Daryl did—and he asked her about the possibility of a couple of the biscuits that were making their rounds ending up on their table. Before he'd hardly gotten the request out of his mouth, four of the biscuits appeared between them, wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Daryl picked one up and glanced around the room trying to find where Carol and Andrea ended up.

"You reckon everybody got biscuits?" Daryl asked.

"If they want 'em, they get 'em," Merle said. "We don't pick favorites here."

"Food's gotta run out sometime, Merle," Daryl said. "Even if it's just until the next meal."

"Said we don't pick favorites," Merle said. "Not that I was able to divide the damn loaves and fishes for all of eternity. Shit runs out a lot. We still struggling. Got gardens and livestock and workin' on greenhouses as we speak. Go huntin' and there's fruit trees. Got scavenger parties that go out damn near every day. Supplies are really startin' to build up now. Winter ain't gonna be so lean as they seen in the past, but it don't mean that shit don't run low sometimes. Still—there's a vast damn improvement over the way things were when I took over this place—too damn much favoritism. It was the first thing I done away with."

"I was gonna save Carol my biscuits if she ain't got none," Daryl said. "I don't see her."

Merle laughed to himself.

"She's around the corner. Other room," Merle said. "When Andrea wants to cluck with all the rest of the lil' hens around here, that's where they go. Don't worry about Carol. Swole up like she is? She's got biscuits if she wants 'em. She'da got 'em first."

"I thought you didn't pick favorites," Daryl said.

"Feedin' the ones who need it most first ain't pickin' favorites," Merle said. "It's doin' what the hell we oughta do. As far as I heard it from the doctors, they've lost a lot of little babies and shit from malnutrition. We got a goal to see some make it through."

"Andrea really pregnant?" Daryl asked.

"That's what they tell us," Merle said. He smiled to himself. "About the size of a jelly bean, so Alice said."

"Do I congratulate you, or was it more of a shotgun situation?" Daryl asked.

Merle snorted.

"Weren't exactly planned," Merle said. "But it weren't exactly not planned, neither."

"Then congratulations," Daryl said.

"Save it for later," Merle said. "Spend some of it on Andrea."

Daryl washed down a large bite of the biscuit with his creamy coffee. It had been a long time since there were decent milk products to be had. It had been a while, too, since he'd tasted a fresh biscuit. He felt almost like Carol had been the night before.

"This is damn good," he commented.

Merle laughed across the table.

"That's the reason I ain't lettin' no damn body fuck this place up," Merle said. "It's the little things. And we got 'em here. Workin' for something when you see the payoff? It's somethin' else. Tastin' the spoils of our labor."

"You got people tryin' to fuck somethin' this good up?" Daryl asked.

"They's always people that want what you got, brother," Merle said.

"Why not just be part of it and have it?" Daryl asked.

"Because they's also always people that don't wanna work for shit," Merle said. "Wanna run into somethin' like this, take it, and drag it down in the damned mud."

"I just don't understand," Daryl said. "Last time I saw you, it was before that run in Atlanta. When they come back, they said you were up on that roof. We went back for you. You were already gone."

"Not all of me, though," Merle said. He laughed to himself and raised up the metal covered stump before he rested his elbow on the table. "Shit, Daryl—I don't wanna talk about it all right now. It ain't breakfast conversation. More like—what you talk about over a beer or twelve."

Daryl shook his head.

"I never thought I'd be drinkin' a beer with you again, Merle," Daryl said.

Merle smirked at him.

"You ask me about mine," Merle said. "Now I wanna know about yours. What's the story behind you an' that lil' Mouse you got?"

"Mouse?" Daryl asked.

"See—the last damn time I seen her? She was all creepin' 'round the rock quarry like a little mouse. Scared to death of everything."

"She was mostly scared of one thing," Daryl offered. "Hell—even more than the Walkers."

"So, you just ain't gonna tell me shit?" Merle asked.

"You didn't really tell me shit neither, Merle," Daryl offered. Merle set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at Daryl. Daryl couldn't help but feel amused.

"I told you about my fuckin' vision," Merle said.

"OK, then you get like one question," Daryl said.

"You said you married her," Merle said. Daryl hummed. "When the hell that seed get planted, boy?"

Daryl focused on his biscuit. He used it to round up what was left of his grits and scrambled eggs onto his fork—all mixed together—and he washed down the large mouthful with coffee to give himself a moment.

"Atlanta," Daryl said.

Merle chuckled.

"With her husband there?" Merle asked. "Damn, boy! You kill the sorry bastard?"

"Shoulda," Daryl said. "Didn't. Didn't get the chance. He pissed Shane off. Got his ass kicked. Then he got eat by Walkers."

"And that bellyful?" Merle asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"Come around some time in there," Daryl said.

"Well—I'm proud of you," Merle said. "Fuckin' hell—I damn sure am! I wondered if you'd ever find you a piece you liked more'n your damned socks."

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl snapped.

"Take it easy, brother," Merle said. "Andrea said you was close. Tight. Said you did all you could to save that kid of hers."

"I had to," Daryl said. "Couldn't just—give up on her. Not even look for her."

"Andrea just didn't say that you was bangin' her ma," Merle said. "Fuck—already growin' another damned Dixon by then. Shit, lil' brother."

"I ain't knowed it," Daryl said. "So, neither did Andrea."

"Didn't know you was fuckin' her?" Merle asked.

"Didn't know about the kid," Daryl said. "Wouldn't nobody have knowed about us. It was a secret. There's such a damn thing as bein' discrete, Merle."

"What the hell happened with Officer Friendly?" Merle asked. "The rest of the ole gang?"

"Weren't you the one said we oughta hold onto shit for sharin' a beer, Merle?" Daryl asked. "Besides—I got shit to do today. We got a lot of supplies. Prob'ly like eight fuckin' loads in our pickup that we left parked out in the woods. Maybe more if you wanna pick clean some shit we ain't got around to. There's plenty of shit—for us and to share. But we gotta go get it. Would be better to do it early. Gonna take a while and that might give us some time to get settled."

Merle laughed.

"Eat that last biscuit, Daryl," he said. "We'll find you a place to settle your ass down."

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**AN: Also, if you're a Mandrea fan, hop over to YouTube and look up gracefull mess. Watch her amazing new Mandrea video! **

**(She also has some pretty incredible Caryl videos, so if you haven't seen those, you might want to check those out. The Mandrea is a present for me, though, so I want to share it with as many people as possible!)**

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Don't forget to tell me what you thought! **


	20. Chapter 20

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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The food had practically appeared on the table in front of them before Andrea, holding Carol by the hand, could guide Carol to her seat. The room was crowded. People sat at tables and laughed and talked. The surrounding din was that of any noisy diner or restaurant when so many people were gathered together and happy to interact with one another. It had been a very long time since Carol had even seen a crowd so large of living people, and it was a little unnerving. She relaxed into her seat, though, as she got used to the feeling, and her relaxation, in turn, helped to relieve some of the sensations of claustrophobia that were making her lungs feel tight.

"I can tell you're probably thinking—am I imagining all this?" Andrea said from across the table. She laughed to herself and Carol caught the laughter and echoed it. It made her relax even further. Andrea's lightness was very different than her demeanor at the farm—when she'd been suffering so much from a sense of hopelessness and loss—and it was pleasantly contagious.

"I have to admit, it's…kind of amazing," Carol said.

"When we first got here, I felt the same way," Andrea admitted. "I was used to a handful of people at one time, but not like this place."

"Everyone lives here?" Carol asked.

Andrea nodded.

"They're—in and out," Andrea said. "I mean you know how it is. Sometimes people leave for something and they don't come back. Sometimes they get killed on a run or something happens. Other times they go looking for something else. Something better. Some go looking for their families. Sometimes people are forced to leave because they just don't work here. We're not keeping people locked up in barns anymore while we decide what to do with them. If you're out, you're out. Don't come back and—if you do?"

"So, you're a capital punishment society," Carol mused.

"Believe me," Andrea said, "I don't like the idea of killing people. And I certainly wouldn't promote killing people just—just because you want to or you feel like it. But—the world has changed. This isn't the world we used to know. And if it comes down to them or—my people?"

"I understand what you mean," Carol said. "I'm not condemning anyone. And when it's only been the three of us? You understand more and more what it means to want to take care of your people."

Andrea smiled at Carol and leaned into the table.

"Three of you and soon—four!" Andrea said. "I'm so excited for you! I can't believe it! I mean—I thought there was definitely something there, on the farm, but I didn't realize that there was quite so much there!"

Carol smiled to herself. She could feel that Andrea was genuinely happy for her. Whether she was happy for her theoretical relationship, the baby she was carrying, or both, she was genuinely happy. Carol felt a rush of warmth for the genuine emotion.

"I didn't really realize it either," Carol said. "Not—not all of it."

She cared for Daryl. She'd been intrigued by him from the beginning, she'd been attracted to him immediately, and she'd grown closer to him as time had gone on. She found him wonderfully complex. She wanted to know him better. She wanted to uncover everything that she was certain was there underneath each layer that she sometimes saw peeled back just a little. She felt that there was a certain understanding between them for shared life experiences—she'd seen the scars on his back and she'd heard him mention his father with less than kind words. She felt a yearning to touch him. To love him. To appreciate him. She felt a desire to give him things—affection and true tenderness—that she thought he might never have known before. She was grateful to him for what he'd done for Sophia, especially since he had been under no obligation to do anything of the sort, and she was grateful to him for all he continued to do for her. She was always happy to simply be in his presence, and every day she felt a little more drawn to him.

She couldn't imagine being married to him. She couldn't imagine that he would ever want that—especially now that they were surrounded by other people—but she was grateful that he was willing to temporarily extend her the courtesy of offering her what protection the mask of a marriage could offer her until they were settled, and she was grateful that he was willing to face whatever backlash, with her, that might come when their fabrication came to light. She could only hope that everyone would understand that they hadn't really meant to be deceptive, and they certainly hadn't meant any harm. She hoped feelings wouldn't be too hurt.

And she hoped, at the very least, that she could keep Daryl as a friend, because she would hate to lose that. If she had to lose any chance of knowing him as anything more, she at least hoped the friendship remained.

But she wished, for just a moment and sitting across the table from Andrea, that the deception was real. It saddened her to think it wasn't.

"We wanted to look for you," Carol offered, feeling the compulsion to apologize and to explain herself to a woman who had asked her for neither. "When we—found each other on the highway? We wanted to go back for you. I saw you go down, but…I didn't want to believe it. Lori said she was sure you that you were bitten, though, when you went down. Surrounded. Rick said—you were gone or dead by the time we found each other. The farm was overrun."

Andrea smiled to herself, it wasn't a sincere smile. Her sincere smile fell. She picked up a piece of meat from her plate and set about making herself a sandwich with one of the biscuits that had been delivered to them.

"I understand why you couldn't come back," Andrea said. "Getting away from the farm was hard enough. But—Rick was the only one that was right. The farm was overrun. And by the time you got back? I would've been gone. I didn't have a choice."

"What happened?" Carol asked.

"Everybody left," Andrea said. "Everyone was gone and the last I saw of any of them were taillights. I didn't have too much time to think about it, at first. The herd was right on top of me. They were right behind me. I ran and I fought until…I was sure I was going to die. I was almost ready to die. And then—Michonne saved me."

"Michonne—from last night, Michonne?" Carol asked.

Andrea smiled and nodded.

"She came out of nowhere," Andrea said. "Like something from a fairytale. She fought off the Walkers that were around me and she took me somewhere to rest and get some food and water. I stayed with her after that."

"She doesn't seem like she has the best personality," Carol said.

"Michonne takes time to warm up," Andrea said. "More time with some than she does with others. She likes to observe people for a while. She's—not quick to trust. But she's a wonderful person to have as a friend."

"But—Andrea—how did you end up with Merle?" Carol asked.

Andrea laughed to herself. She chewed through a bite of the biscuit sandwich she'd made for herself and the expression of pleasure that she made over it made Carol's stomach growl despite her abundance of food. She set about copying Andrea's actions to make a similar sandwich for herself in order to appease the craving that suddenly overcame her.

"Do you mean," Andrea said, holding her hand up to guard Carol against seeing her practically talking with her mouth full, "how did I end up in the same place as Merle, or do you mean how did I end up married to Merle?"

"I want the answer to both," Carol admitted.

"It was—a freak thing," Andrea said. "Mich and I were—we were wandering, really. We were trying to decide where to go. Where would be best to just start over? Where could we make a life that we could actually live? We were just sort of wandering, like I said, and I started to get sick. And then I got really sick. Honestly, I thought I was going to die. But we kept going because we didn't really have a choice and we didn't have anywhere safe—at least not that, you know, stayed safe for long. So, one day, we heard people. We thought it was strange. We weren't near a highway. Michonne preferred to stay on back roads because the highways tended to have more little pockets of Walkers, or at least it seemed that way. Anyway—we heard these people. Michonne normally wanted to avoid any people we came across, because she hardly trusts anyone at first, but I convinced her that we should go investigate. I think she only agreed because she thought I was going to die, too, and any help was better than no help at all. We ended up at a barn. The house that had been there had burned down, but the barn was still standing. And there was an SUV parked outside the barn and there were people there, building a fire. We were just watching them, hiding, and then we weren't alone anymore. While we were watching them, someone was watching us. They snuck up behind us in the woods. I turned around and—it was Merle. I couldn't believe it. Whether it was the shock or the—the sickness I had, I don't know. I passed out. And when I woke up, I was inside the barn. I was doing better. And Merle was there—ready to explain everything to me."

"So, you married him," Carol said with a laugh.

"Not right away," Andrea said. "He was with a small group. They had a doctor with them. He's still here, actually. We have four doctors. We take very good care of our doctors. Anyway—they had supplies and they were headed for the mountains because Merle argued that it would be the safest place to go. People survive up here, you know? It's what they do. And the landscape makes it difficult for Walkers to move around. It especially makes it difficult for them to bunch up."

"That's what Daryl said," Carol said with a smile.

"He wasn't really wrong," Andrea said. "Michonne wanted to go to the beach. Sail to an island somewhere. Live off the sea. Merle convinced her that the mountains would be a better choice. Either that or…she was outnumbered."

"But—you hated Merle at the quarry," Carol said.

"To be fair," Andrea said, "everyone hated Merle at the quarry. Including Merle. It took me a little while to realize that—it wasn't Merle we hated. It was his addictions and who those addictions turned him into." She shook her head. "The group that he was with didn't really know that Merle."

"But you did," Carol said.

"They respected him," Andrea said. "They'd all been in a kind of bad situation. Their larger group crumbled. Most of them died. He stepped up; you know? He was prepared for me to tell them everything he ever did, but…I decided not to pull the rug out from under him. It wouldn't have accomplished anything good."

"And we all deserve a second chance," Carol offered. "A chance to start over."

"We're all rebuilding ourselves," Andrea said. "I didn't mean to end up with Merle—married to him, I mean. And if you'd told me at the rock quarry…"

"But it was a different Merle," Carol offered.

"He is a different Merle," Andrea said. "And he's even a different Merle when he's meeting with people about what we're going to do and when he's alone, with me, talking about everything."

Carol couldn't help but smile at the expression on Andrea's face. She had been turning over the idea that Merle and Andrea were married almost all night long. It seemed entirely impossible. It seemed like mixing oil and water. She couldn't imagine that Andrea could be happy with Merle, but looking at her across the table, she wasn't sure that she could be convinced that Andrea could be happier with anyone else.

"You're married to Merle and he's leading a drug-free community," Carol mused.

"Except for pot," Andrea said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"You told us," Carol said, "that someone named Jerry grows a lot of pot."

Andrea smiled.

"We have poppies, too, but that's only for medicinal purposes and our doctors monitor the use of the serum they extract from the poppies. The pot we're not strict on. The liquid refreshments, either, as long as people don't really abuse them. We have an old man here who makes a variety of liquid refreshments. The community hasn't always been drug-free. Believe it or not, that's one of the changes that Merle made when he took over."

"To help himself stay sober?" Carol asked.

Andrea hummed.

"And because it was easy to see what drugs were doing to some of the people here," Andrea said. "Nothing good was coming from it. So, we just made the rule—you're clean or you're out. If you're addicted, and you're having trouble coming clean, we'll help you, you know? People go through shit. But you have to try. And we're not bringing it in."

"And a baby?" Carol asked.

Andrea beamed.

"She's so little," Andrea said. "And I'm scared to death. It just showed up on the test and Alice said it's way too soon to even tell anyone because literally anything could happen, but I just couldn't keep it to myself."

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat. She nodded.

"I understand," she said. "It's good news, and you want to share it. And, hopefully, nothing happens except—you have a beautiful baby. You said she?"

"I don't know she's a girl," Andrea said. "I mean she's so small she's…hardly worth mentioning to most people. But Merle and I both felt so uncomfortable saying 'it' like we didn't know what it was—like it could be a baby or a…or a kitten or something. So, we decided to just call the baby something."

"And you chose a girl because you want a girl?" Carol asked.

Andrea laughed.

"I call her a girl," Andrea said. "Because Merle calls him a boy. And he said he couldn't imagine that we'd have a girl so…I do it just to irritate him. Besides, all the bases are covered. It's a girl, it's a boy. Merle calls it Schrödinger's baby."

"It's both and neither until you know," Carol offered.

"You got it," Andrea said.

"Merle's happy?"

"Happy doesn't begin to cover it," Andrea said. "That's another reason we decided to share it. We wanted to enjoy every single minute of it, you know? We didn't want to miss anything."

"Yeah," Carol said. "I know. I understand."

Her stomach ached at the words, and she could only half pretend it had anything to do with the sandwich she was eating.

She could understand the sentiment, but she couldn't really share the experience. It had been best, when she'd been married to Ed, to try to keep his attention away from her pregnancies—especially since she was almost certain there had been one before Sophia; one that she never talked about because there'd never been much confirmation beyond a gut feeling—and to keep his attention away from Sophia as much as possible after she'd been born. This pregnancy, too, had been something that Carol had kept to herself. She hadn't enjoyed it for fear that it would end and for some irrational fear, perhaps, that someone would deny her the simple pleasure of enjoying it for herself.

With two or three months left in the pregnancy, Carol wasn't even sure she knew how to enjoy such a thing.

Or that she could if she wanted to try.

"So—what happened with everybody else?" Andrea asked. "Did you get separated by a herd or something?"

She snatched Carol out of her daydream and Carol forced herself to eat another bite of food simply because she was aware that she needed it.

"I guess you could say we got separated," she offered, "but it wasn't exactly a herd that did it. Honestly, it was Daryl."


	21. Chapter 21

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I'll go ahead and let you know, we have a couple of chapters of character development/getting to know these versions of our characters ahead of us. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Would you let me get that?" Daryl called out as Carol dragged one of the plastic totes to the tailgate of the truck.

"I've got it," Carol assured him. "Daryl—I'm not an invalid."

"I don't think you no invalid," Daryl pointed out, putting his hand on the side of the tote so that he could keep her from lifting it immediately. "But I still think that it's reasonable of me to say that you don't gotta carry somethin' that weighs like eighty pounds when somebody else can get that shit." He sighed. "I'm not tryin' to cut you off at the knees or nothin'. I'm just sayin'—let me carry the damn box. And you can unload the shit inside."

"I don't want to feel useless," Carol said.

"I hate unpacking shit," Daryl said. "But I'm pretty damn good at unloadin' trucks."

Carol sighed and let go of the tote. A slight smile of victory flashed across Daryl's lips before he stepped into her place and lifted the tote. Instead of going empty-handed, Carol reached for one of the bags and a couple of pillows. The combined weight of everything she carried was small enough to keep Daryl from protesting.

"Be careful, Daryl," Carol said, walking behind him. "Be careful. Pick your foot up. There's a little step up there. Now slow—go slow. There's the bottom step. You got it. Five steps up."

Daryl followed her directions well as he made his way up the porch steps. As he reached the door, it opened for him. Merle stood there propping it open.

"You got more, brother?" He asked.

"Not in this load," Daryl said. "Carol's got the last of it. The rest of this goes to everyone. Plenty more comin', though."

Once Daryl made it inside the house, Carol followed after him. Merle held the door open for her to pass inside and then he let the it close.

"Andrea opened all the windows," Merle said. "Place oughta air out soon."

Daryl put the tote down in the middle of the floor and Carol put what she was carrying on the couch.

"Whatever's in there that's T-Dog's," Daryl said, addressing Carol, "you can leave down here. Same goes for anything else you find of his in them other boxes. He can carry it upstairs. There ain't no need in you haulin' it up an' down them stairs."

"I'll put away what I can," Carol said. "I can help you with the next load, though."

"Why don't you start unpackin'?" Daryl offered. "We'll get the next couple loads an' then we'll see where we are."

"Start settling in. That way Andrea can take you to get some house stuff. That's her favorite part. Start figurin' out what you gonna need," Merle offered.

Carol looked around the house. Then she looked at Daryl.

"You're sure this is the one you want?" She asked. "Before I start unpacking. You don't want to—look at them again?"

They'd been given their choice of houses. There were 120 cabins on the sprawling property. All of them had been equipped with solar power before the turn, and most of them had backup generators in addition to the fact that they'd been hooked into a traditional power grid. Since they'd clearly been vacation cabins to rent out to the financially well-to-do, and possibly even homes or vacation homes for a few who may have owned a place on the property, they were all well-furnished and as clean as any place that had been closed up for about a year probably would be.

The people who lived within the community had the choice to live as spread out as they wanted, but it seemed that very few people actually liked living alone these days. Most of the people lived in small family units in the cabins. In the same way, T-Dog had asked that Daryl and Carol find a cabin that offered a room for him, but had insisted that he cared about relatively little when it came to picking out the cabin. He'd take an extra bedroom in whatever house they chose to call home.

Despite the fact that they could have had a great deal of privacy by choosing a cabin that was somewhat removed from the other occupied cabins, Carol had picked out one that was relatively close to the one that Andrea and Merle called home.

Carol was beginning to grow nervous, though, because she had essentially been the one that had chosen the cabin. Daryl had gone with her—driving the truck through the property—to look at the cabins, but he'd left the decision up to her. She'd never made a decision that large before, and she'd certainly never made one that impacted so many people before. Ed, after all, had made all their decisions.

"I told you, it's fine by me. Good house. Roof don't leak. It's plenty big enough for all of us an' then some."

"Most of 'em is four bedrooms like this one," Merle said.

"I just—don't want you to live in one if there was another you liked better," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Got four walls, a roof, and a bed," Daryl said. "I'ma be fine. Just—work on unloadin' stuff outta these boxes. Get it like you like it. Figure out what'cha wanna get."

"You need anything?" Carol asked.

"I'm good," Daryl assured her. "Maybe—some chairs for the porch?"

"Got plenty," Merle offered.

Daryl raised an eyebrow at Carol to ask if she could comply with his desire to have a porch that was suitable for time spent relaxing after work. She nodded.

"Great," she said. "I'll—make sure we have some nice chairs. Rocking or…?"

"Rocking, if they got 'em," Daryl said.

"We got 'em," Merle offered.

"Let me go do some more movin'," Daryl said.

"Don't forget that I filled that bathroom up with baby stuff," Carol said. "Please?"

"I'll get all the baby stuff," Daryl assured her. "I'll check twice. Make sure we strip the place clean."

"We prob'ly gonna go back an' strip the place clean…real clean," Merle said. "Just get what'cha need right now. We'll do the real dirty work over the next week or so."

Daryl nodded and quickly left. Merle stayed behind.

Merle made Carol nervous—mostly because the only experiences she'd had with Merle, before their arrival in the community, had been mostly antagonistic encounters with an addict who was high on something that brought out all his worst qualities.

She walked over to one of the numerous boxes and started burrowing through it to even get a feel for what was in there.

"I don't know if I'm going to need more stuff as much as…really, there's going to be a lot here that I don't need," Carol mused, looking for a reason to talk to the man who was walking around inspecting the cabin.

"We can handle that too, Mouse," Merle commented.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Mouse?" She asked.

Merle chuckled.

"Back when I knew you before, you was like a little mouse. That's how I always thought of you. Runnin' around. Scared of your own shadow."

"It wasn't my shadow I was afraid of," Carol commented.

Merle hummed.

"That's the same thing Daryl said," Merle mused.

"You were talking about me with Daryl?" Carol asked.

"We gonna pretend you weren't talkin' about me with Andrea?" Merle asked. "Look—I'ma talk to Daryl later. When he gets back we're gonna have a couple beers. But I wanted to talk to you, too. Andrea told me some of what you told her about Officer Friendly and the rest of that group you were with." Carol stopped pretending she was actually going through the items in the box. She walked over and sat down on the couch. She didn't say anything, and Merle didn't continue for another minute. "We ain't gonna let you starve here. Ain't gonna starve your kid out, neither."

"I gathered that much," Carol said. "I can certainly say I've eaten well since we got here. I appreciate it. I'm sure—the baby appreciates it, too."

"I saw him watchin' you at camp," Merle said. "My brother. Watchin' every little thing you done. Watchin' that kid and that—sorry—but that fuckin' asshole you was married to." Carol's stomach twisted a little at the suggestion that Daryl might have been watching her, even then, with some interest. Andrea had insisted on something much the same.

It was a strange thing to really consider. Just the thought made Carol's pulse pick up.

"You don't have to apologize for thinking Ed was an asshole. Everybody did. I noticed Daryl, too," Carol offered.

"Damn sure must have," Merle said with a laugh. "My brother was always the sweet one of the family. Been that way since he was born."

Carol smiled to herself. She tried to imagine a newborn Daryl. She tried to imagine, too, Merle interacting with a newborn Daryl.

"He is sweet," she agreed. "He's—easily the kindest man I've ever known. Of course—from what I heard over breakfast, it might be that he isn't the only one in the family that has a sweet side."

Carol wasn't certain that Merle's cheeks didn't run a little pink. He did smile to himself.

"Point is—I ain't never knowed my baby brother to want no woman," Merle said. "I mean—it weren't that he weren't never interested at all. But—hell if any woman we ever come across was ever good enough for Daryl. I figured what he wanted weren't never made—at least not so that she'd want him back. Hell—back then, though, we weren't dealin' with the kinda women that was happy to have babies and make homes. Not with us."

"Do you have a point, Merle?" Carol asked.

Merle laughed again.

"How about—you gimme a hand. No fuckin' pun intended. Light me a cigarette while I—check out your porch an' see if I can't hop ahead in a bit an' look for some decent ass chairs for you two to sit holdin' damn hands on the porch."

Merle offered a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in Carol's direction that he pulled from his pocket. She was certain that he'd probably adapted to be able to light cigarettes himself, but it was probably easier to ask her for help—and it gave him more opportunity to talk to her.

She might not know what he wanted, after all, but it was evident to her that Merle Dixon at least wanted to bend her ear a bit.

On the porch, Carol did what Merle asked of her and lit his cigarette. He thanked her when she returned his pack and lighter. Then he walked down the length of the porch, examining the wood of the railing as he went.

"I weren't always there for him like he wanted me to be," Merle said. "He's always wanted somebody that would always be there. Somethin' good he could hold onto. He's loyal, though. Fuckin' loyal like—like you wouldn't damn believe."

"He's not a golden retriever," Carol offered softly.

Merle laughed.

"He ain't," Merle agreed. "But—they might have some of the same damn traits. My point, Mouse, is that—he might be a sonofabitch sometimes. He might be fuckin' hardheaded as hell. But—just remember that just like he weren't gonna let no damn body hurt you or that kid? Just like he took you outta there to make sure you was safe? He ain't never gonna turn his back on you. So—don't turn yours on his, OK? He waited this long. He deserves somebody that's worth it. Hell—somebody that thinks he's worth it."

Carol stood there and stared at Merle. He stared back at her, too. He didn't move his eyes away from hers. He didn't try to avoid her.

He was being sincere. Carol never imagined any of Merle Dixon's words would ever touch her, but they did. They tugged at something inside of her.

She couldn't tell him that it was all a beautiful sentiment—that his brother had waited so long to find the love of his life and that, as his big brother, Merle wanted to personally ask her not to break his brother's heart—but it was misplaced. Daryl had yet to find that woman. Daryl had yet to make that choice.

Carol was little more than someone he cared about as a friend. She was little more than a companion because alone was a big and empty place.

She couldn't tell him that she wished she had everything to offer Daryl that he wanted and deserved.

Instead, she simply nodded her head.

"You're absolutely right, Merle," Carol said. "He is worth it. And he deserves…all the best."

A hint of a smile tugged up the corners of Merle's lips.

"Good," Merle said. He walked back toward Carol. As he reached her, he extended his hand and Carol allowed him to place it on her belly. He patted her belly in the same way he might pat a puppy. Then he returned his interest to smoking his cigarette. The conversation was done, as far as Merle was concerned, and it might have never even happened. "We got some nice rockers gathered together in storage. They took 'em in to avoid the weather rot back when the group first moved in here. But—you gonna like some of what we got. We got shit for babies, too, so don't you worry too much about it. Whatever the hell you need, we'll find it." He started down the porch steps. "Get unpacked. I'll send Andrea to get you just as soon as she's done at the main cabin."

"Merle!" Carol called. He stopped and turned around. "You know—I think it's good if we all leave a lot of the past behind. Where it ought to be. But—I'd be a bad friend if I didn't say anything and, just like you don't want to be a bad brother, I don't want to be a bad friend."

"You got somethin' to say?" Merle asked.

"Be good to Andrea," Carol said. "She deserves it, too, you know?"

Merle laughed to himself.

"That she does," he agreed. "Don't you worry. She ain't got no complaints."


	22. Chapter 22

**AN: Here we are, another chapter.**

**Just a warning that tomorrow I go back to work. I'll be back to updating when I can.**

**I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl was tired. The feeling of fatigue seemed to soak all the way to his bones. It was the good kind of tired, though. It was the kind of tired that he'd take any day over being tired from worrying about where they were going and whether or not they were going to survive even one day more. Tonight, Daryl was the kind of bone-tired that came from making what felt like four thousand trips up and down stairs carrying the most weight that his back and shoulders could tolerate.

Tonight, Daryl was feeling more optimistic than he'd felt in a long time. Things were looking up now even more than they had at the farm—before things had proven that they'd go to shit and Daryl had imagined they'd find Sophia and, perhaps, figure out how to make something work on Hershel's property. Things were looking even better, really, than they had at the CDC—before Daryl had known the terrible truth that they'd all face being blown to bits.

Daryl could relax in this feeling because it didn't take some Sherlock Holmes character to tell that this place was safe. It was functioning well. The people were living good lives. Everything around him, too, was far too complicated for it all to be a series of smoke and mirrors.

Everyone had a job, everyone did that job and, Daryl imagined, everyone slept well at night from being worn out after an honest day of work.

Daryl had hardly seen or talked to anyone all day in more than quick snatches of conversation. He'd been hauling loads of stuff, all day long, from the motel as they worked on clearing out everything they'd gathered and cleaning out a few more vehicles they'd left untouched in the surrounding area. Every time he returned with a load of stuff—even if it was a load bound only for storage—he went by the house that he would call home.

Daryl would have never imagined that he'd have a nice, four-bedroom cabin in the mountains to call his home. He didn't want to wax poetic about it because he didn't want everyone knowing what a stupid sap he could be over things that most people didn't even care about, but he liked stopping by the house with every load. He liked seeing it again—waiting there—and knowing it was designated as his home. It wouldn't take long and everyone would know it was his home. The whole community would know it, and they would simply accept it as his. Before long, after days of work that left him pleasantly tired like this one, it would become second nature to climb the porch steps of that house, step inside, and shake off the day.

Nobody was going to take it away from him. He wasn't at risk of losing it. The community was protected. Its walls had been standing since the beginning and they'd been reinforced since then. There was nobody waiting to elbow him out of the space because they found his home more desirable than their own. There was no one to shove him out the door because he shouldn't mind that he had less than they did—he was probably used to it, after all.

On one of his trips, while Carol had been out with Andrea doing something, Daryl had taken his time to walk slowly through the house. He'd take his time to appreciate all the details that someone had taken care of before the world had changed and had left behind—everything that would be part of what he would call home now.

He'd take the time, too, to appreciate the fact that Carol had lovingly unpacked the items that they had. His clothes were hanging in the closet. They were folded in drawers in the dresser. They were neatly tucked away.

Right next to hers.

Daryl knew that it was all fantasy and make believe, but he could almost believe it was real.

The two of them together, for the time being, barely had enough clothes to fill up half of one of the dresser drawers in the wooden dresser. They barely had enough hanging to fill up a couple of inches of space in the closet—and that was because Carol had been gracious with her spacing.

But what they did have was coexisting with each other—side-by-side.

Carol's preferred night clothes, stretched and ragged as they were, were next to Daryl's t-shirts. Her personal items—clothes he'd never dare to touch himself unless he absolutely had to cram everything she owned in a bag, in a hurry, like he'd done when they'd left Rick and company behind—were neatly folded and sorted next to Daryl's own underwear.

In the bedroom, on the bed, there were pillows—throw pillows and regular pillows—and the bed waited, prepared for two people. The bed waited for the two of them to climb into it, among the clean sheets that Andrea had brought for them, and sleep. This wouldn't be just the sleep that Daryl was accustomed to getting with her by his side—a few hours snatched here and there in a vehicle or wherever they could dare to close their eyes. This would be real sleep, and it would be night after night until the time came that Carol felt it was secure enough to give up the game and let everyone know the truth.

Daryl's stomach ached at the thought of it. He almost didn't dare to enjoy it now for the knowledge that it would all end soon enough, but if this life had taught him anything, it was that he better enjoy the hell out of the good things before they had the chance to turn to shit. There was no telling when, once it had all gone to hell, the good would be back again.

Tonight was a good night.

Carol wasn't done with the house. Daryl didn't know, exactly, what she was doing at the house, but he knew she wasn't done. He'd seen her a few moments on his way to dinner—since he'd come in late and ended up eating at a different time than her—but he hadn't had much time with her. He wasn't likely to have much time with her until it was bedtime. She was with Andrea, now, and they were doing whatever it was they needed to do in the house to finish things up.

T-Dog—who had worked most of the day with Daryl—was off around the fires in the community lawn. It was, apparently, a social gathering place within the community, and T-Dog had an itch to go and be social.

Daryl, for his part, was happily rocking on the porch of Merle's house, smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer that had been brewed by someone within the community who had developed that specific talent as one that they could offer toward bettering the experience of living there.

Merle came out of the house from where he'd gone in to take a piss, and he moved the small table between their chairs a little closer to Daryl before he moved his own chair over and sat down again. He put one of his rolled cigarettes—apparently also an offering of someone in the community—between his lips and pointed at the lighter on the table.

"Would'ja?" He asked.

Daryl didn't hesitate. He flicked the lighter for Merle. He'd seen his brother work a lighter a couple of times throughout the day, but adjusting to life without his dominant hand meant that Merle was learning to not only accept help, but to ask for it with little things. He could do it himself, but they didn't have to do everything themselves.

"Decent beer, ain't it?" Merle mused.

"I got no complaints," Daryl said. The beer was good. It was smooth. And Daryl was already feeling a little of it going to his head. He appreciated the mellow buzz.

"You gonna tell me about my pal, Officer Friendly?" Merle asked.

"Why don't you start by tellin' me what you know, Merle," Daryl said with a laugh. "I know Andrea an' Carol been stuck together like Siamese twins today. I ain't about to believe you've got through the whole day without hearing from Andrea whatever Carol's told her."

"Maybe I just wanna hear from you, Daryl," Merle said.

"The whole story? We'd be here all night," Daryl said. 

"We got hours," Merle offered.

Daryl sighed.

"Shane was fuckin' Lori," Daryl said.

"And here I thought you was gonna tell me shit I didn't know," Merle said.

"Maybe what'cha didn't know was it turned out that Lori was Rick's wife. That kid? Rick's kid. So, he gets back an' Lori fucks real good with the both of 'em."

"Damn—fuckin' both of 'em?" Merle mused.

"Mentally, I mean," Daryl said. "Whether it's—that or just the strain of everything we went through? Shane just started to lose his mind."

"His screws weren't never twisted too tight," Merle pointed out.

"Well they come loose," Daryl said. "And Rick killed him. And, hell, Rick's screws come loose. He was basically like—I'm fuckin' in charge now. You don't got no voice. I'm the leader and what the hell I say, goes. Don't ask no questions, you know the idea."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Last asshole that ran this place tried to run it like that," Merle said. "Blade through the fuckin' eyeball will put a stop to that shit. I don't do that. I run this place—'cause that's what the hell people want. They want someone to say—anything, really. They want someone that's gonna be the one that says whatever the hell needs to be said. Someone to say get the hell out or—come on in, as the fuckin' case may be. But my door ain't never really closed. I burnt up enough of my brain that—I can use their ideas. An' they got some good damn ideas…like this beer."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Well—Rick didn't think nobody had good ideas. We had a decent thing going on the farm, before we lost Andrea, but we lost the damn farm. Ended up wandering aimlessly. Day after day. Night after night. Hell—we didn't have no damn direction and Rick wouldn't hear shit about it. Said we were going to Washington, maybe, but I don't think he had a fuckin' clue where Washington was 'cause our asses was damn near goin' in circles. You could piss on the same tree damn near every week and have moved seven times between."

"Rick didn't know it was the same damn tree," Merle mused. "But—tell me more about Sister Golden Pussy."

"Who?" Daryl asked. Merle laughed.

"Olive Oyl," Merle said. "Shane and Rick's problem."

"Lori," Daryl said. "She was knocked up."

"It'll sure as shit happen these days," Merle said. "Don't always come to much, though."

"It's gonna happen," Daryl said. "Side-effect of fuckin'. Everybody knows that."

"Not too bad, as far as side-effects go," Merle mused.

"That weren't what the hell you used to say," Daryl said. "I remember more than one drunken rant where you was pissed off 'cause you was scared you knocked some bitch up."

Merle smiled to himself.

"Different when you knockin' up somebody that—that'cha don't mind bein' tied to for the rest of your damned life," Merle said. "But who the hell am I tellin'? Unless—you ain't meant to knock her up."

"Did you mean to knock Andrea up?" Daryl asked. "Or she just get knocked up?"

"Touché," Merle offered. "So, Olive Oyl gets knocked up—and you said fuck it an' hit the damned road with your woman."

"Not exactly," Daryl said. "At least—not at first. I feel like we were on the road forever. Every damn where we went, we were scroungin' like rats for food an' everything we needed. And Rick was always there—standing over us—with a hand out. Carl was a kid. He needed shit to grow. Lori was pregnant; both her kids needed shit to grow."

"That ain't a lie, though," Merle said. "I mean—we ain't got but one kid here that's made it, but we take care of that kid. And since that last asshole's gone and—some of his ways are gone? We're hopin' for more kids. A whole damn lot of 'em. You know—for a future and all that optimistic, lookin' toward brighter days shit. Put the rule right into place, though, that we gonna take care of the kids. Do all that we can to get 'em here safe an' keep 'em that way."

"But you know as good as I do that it don't do no good if you doin' that at the complete expense of all your damn people," Daryl said. "You starve your people here into weakness. Sickness. Death. What happens to them kids when they the only ones left 'cause you killed everybody else?"

"Said we take care of 'em," Merle said. "Didn't say we kill everybody else. Hell—you divide shit up, it's just—maybe you go with a little less if you gotta."

"There were fuckin' days, Merle…fuckin' whole ass…fuckin' days…that I ain't seen Carol put more'n a damn mouthful in her stomach," Daryl said. "Now? Pisses me off so damned bad I wish I could go back an' wring Rick's neck for it—and anybody else's who might've agreed with him."

"What about your kid?" Merle asked. "Why didn't it come in just as important as the other?"

"Carol didn't tell me she was pregnant," Daryl said. "The night I found out about it? Realized she was pregnant? The next mornin' I got up 'fore it was hardly past bein' night, and I stayed out there until I got a raccoon. I was set on her eatin' the whole damn thing if she wanted it. She cooked it up and I served her what the hell she oughta have. A real damn meal. Then comes Rick with his damn hand out. Merle—I seen red." He laughed to himself, now, remembering the day and imaging the story as told to someone who hadn't experienced it. "I pulled a damn knife on him. Meant it, too. I was ready to cut a man's throat over a bowl of coon's meat."

Merle chuckled.

"I'd be pissed if you weren't," Merle said. "Sharin' is one damn thing. Starvin' your damned kid is another. The fucker that run this place when we got here? Hell—I was watchin' everything. Knew it'd be better for everybody if the asshole was gone. I prob'ly wouldn'ta rocked the damn boat, though, 'til the asshole thought he had a right to what the hell Andrea ain't wanted to give him. I give him somethin' instead."

"We left after that," Daryl said. "T followed us. That's when we headed this way."

"Damn good thing you did," Merle mused. "You want another? Come on…"

Daryl got up and followed Merle in the house to refresh his glass of beer. He drained the first glass and waited while Merle got one of the two pitchers of beer he'd obtained for them, and refilled his own glass.

"I do got one question to ask you, brother," Merle said.

"Just one?" Daryl asked with a laugh. He accepted when Merle offered to pour more of the beer into his glass. "I got a shit ton of questions for you, Merle."

Merle laughed.

"One for the time being," Merle said. "How the hell was it, brother, that'cha ain't knowed your fuckin' wife was knocked up?"

"You seen her, Merle," Daryl said. "Hell—she's lookin'…she's lookin' pregnant these days. But, like I said, she weren't eatin' for shit. Weren't that big."

"All the more damn reason you oughta noticed if they was anything there," Merle said. "I mean we all grab a quick fuck with clothes on if we gotta, but…damn, boy, you ain't paid no better attention than that?"

Daryl considered how he might possibly answer this question. The truth, after all, was that he'd never fucked Carol. The truth, really, of his absolute lack of sexual prowess would probably embarrass Merle on his behalf.

Daryl had never wanted the kind of women that Merle, in the absence of anything better, had always settled for. And Daryl wasn't the kind that was going to attract the kind of woman he wanted. Unlike Merle, who was at least, evidently, smooth talking enough to get a woman who had once been a lawyer to legitimately marry him, Daryl just didn't have that kind of way with knowing what women wanted to hear.

And Daryl had always been one who would rather do without than settle for less than what the hell he wanted. For that reason, he'd done without a great many things in his life.

He hoped, if he'd truly been with Carol and if he'd truly been the father of the child she carried, that he would have paid very close attention to her body. He hoped that he would have noticed the changes in her long before he noticed them through her pajamas like he had.

But to admit that he wasn't that oblivious would be to admit that he'd never seen her that way. He'd never touched her that way.

"On the road there ain't much time, Merle," Daryl said. "You don't do much more than exist. I guess—I just didn't see it until—I did."

Merle hummed at him. He drank part of his beer and refilled both glasses again—despite the fact that very little had been drunk from either of them—before he gestured toward the door. Daryl understood him and started back toward the porch.

"Don't matter," Merle said. "I mean—it matters, but…fuck…you here now. And there's more'n enough food to go around."

"I can help hunt," Daryl offered. "Good on runs. Better than I used to be, even."

"You good at a lot of shit we gonna need," Merle mused. Daryl smiled to himself. It had been a long time since Daryl could really remember Merle being off drugs. And if Merle was drinking, and already in a decent mood, what he drank only made his mood better. The brother that asked Daryl to light another cigarette for him—which Daryl did before taking one of his own—was the brother that Daryl had missed a great deal. He was the brother that Daryl had mourned for dead a long damn time before the Dead had inherited the Earth.

And Daryl was happier to see him than he imagined he could be. He didn't dare to tell Merle that, though, because Merle would tease him unmercifully for being too damn sentimental—at least until he'd had enough beer to make him just as sentimental as he pretended never to be.

"Your lil' woman ain't eat good for most the time she's been carryin' that kid," Merle said.

"No," Daryl admitted. "But she's eatin' good now."

"All the same, Daryl," Merle offered, "she's been stuck in that house most the day today. But tomorrow—maybe you oughta take her over to our lil' clinic we got set up. Let her meet some of our doctors. Wouldn't hurt to let 'em see if—you know—everything's goin' like it should."

Daryl's chest tightened.

"I'm sure it is," he said.

"Me too," Merle said. "But—the only thing better'n bein' sure about that shit is bein' extra damn sure about it."


	23. Chapter 23

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think. **

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When Daryl woke up, Carol was still asleep. He lay there for a moment without knowing what to do. If he got up, he'd probably disturb her. If he stayed there, though, there was nothing to do but stare at her—and she would probably be horrified if she knew that was how he spent the time before she woke.

He made a decision without actually making a decision when he simply failed to move at all. He lay on his side, facing her, and watched her sleep. For just a moment, it felt like he had no choice. He was compelled to do it on some level.

She was peaceful. Completely lost to the world and relaxed. Then, without much warning, she seemed to start to dream something very different than what she had been dreaming. The dream she was having must not have been entirely pleasant. Her expression was almost one of anger. It might have been fear. There was a distinct line formed between her brow even as she slept. She twitched in her sleep. Her legs shifted under the cover. When she let out something like a whimper, her face drawing up more with the dream, Daryl reached his hand out and pressed it gently against her shoulder before he shook her. She came into herself with a sharp intake of breath.

"Shhhh shhhh…" Daryl responded. "It's OK. You're OK. It was just—a bad dream." Carol looked around, clearly disoriented. The line remained deep between her brows. She was no stranger to nightmares, and neither was Daryl. That fact was one reason they preferred to try to sleep around each other on the road. Their nightmares might disturb others, but neither of them was really bothered by the other. "It's our house," Daryl offered gently. "Remember? We live in the Cedar Falls community, now."

Carol relaxed. She sighed. She sunk into the pillow. She closed her eyes and rubbed her face against the pillow before she opened them to Daryl again.

"Did I wake you up?" She asked.

"I woke you up," Daryl said.

"I mean—with the nightmare," Carol clarified.

Daryl shook his head.

"I just happened to wake up," Daryl said. "Just—just woke up. Hadn't had time to get up yet."

"Thank you," Carol breathed out.

"No problem," Daryl offered. "You hardly got any rest at all last night."

Carol laughed to herself. She yawned and rubbed her face against the pillow again. When she did that—the little sleepy things like that—it made Daryl want to touch her face. It gave him the strange desire to find a way to give her the expression of happiness that she made when she enjoyed the touch of something like soft sheets or a blanket. He wished he could touch her in ways that seemed to please her as simply as those other things.

He didn't dare to touch her, though, beyond those touches which he could easily explain.

"You didn't either," Carol said. "And—that's my fault."

"I got enough," Daryl said. "You wanna—talk about the nightmare?"

"It won't change it," Carol said. "And it was just a nightmare."

"Might make you feel better," Daryl offered.

Carol smiled at him.

"You really want to hear about my nightmare?" She asked.

"I'd really listen," Daryl said. "If you wanna tell me. But—it's yours to keep to yourself if it's not the kind of thing that you…wanna talk about."

"Same old same," Carol said.

Daryl knew that Carol typically had three kinds of nightmares. She had the kind involving Ed, the kind involving Sophia, and the kind that involved both of them.

"Him or…"

"He wasn't there, but it was him," Carol said. "Chasing me. And I was trying to keep Sophia safe, but—I knew he was right there. Even though I couldn't see him. We were just running somewhere and I looked over my shoulder to see how far behind us he was and…" She smiled at Daryl. "And then you woke me up, so that was it."

"Glad I got you up, then," Daryl said.

"Thank you," Carol said softly. She frowned and turned her face into the pillow for a moment. The way she cuddled it this time was different than it had been before.

"Hey—you don't gotta think about it no more," Daryl said, reaching his hand out to squeeze the top of her arm. "Was a nightmare anyway; weren't real. Got a lot to do today. Better not to even think about—about what's back there, you know? In the past."

"You're right," Carol agreed. She pushed the cover back like she was getting up. Daryl watched her as she got up and padded to the bathroom. He stayed in bed until she returned and then, without a word, he got up. He was in his underwear, and he was aware of that, but she was in a pretty revealing nightgown. They'd seen each other like this for the past two nights, so it wasn't like they had too many great secrets between them. He went into the little bathroom connected to their bedroom and closed the door. In the bathroom, he pissed, washed his hands, and washed his face. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror for a moment. Then he stepped out of the bathroom.

Carol was sitting on the side of the bed in the somewhat revealing nightgown that Andrea had given her two nights before. Daryl tried to look away from her bare legs but, so far, his success rate for actually doing that was relatively low.

"You need a haircut," Carol offered.

"I shaved," Daryl responded.

"And now you need a haircut," Carol said with a laugh. "I could cut it for you, if you like."

"Fine," Daryl said. "Whatever. When you want."

"After—I see the community doctors?" Carol asked.

Daryl's stomach tightened.

He didn't want to have any sort of conversation related to this. The night before, he'd mentioned it to Carol and she'd been deeply upset about. She hadn't explained to him why and, in fact, she'd pretty much refused to say anything to him about her feelings. She'd been so adamant about it that she wouldn't even agree to go to bed until he'd promised her that he wasn't going to force her into anything—going to them or talking about why she was upset—as long as she at least tried to rest a little.

He hated seeing her torn up about something so much that just remembering her reaction had his heart pounding in his chest already.

He sat down on the bed, and studied his cuticles for dry skin.

"If that's what you want," he said.

"You mean the doctors or the haircut?" Carol asked.

"Both," Daryl offered. Finding a piece of skin that was barely accessible on his middle finger, he focused on catching it with his teeth to nip it off.

Carol sat with less than a foot of bed between them—still bare-legged, and he was sure of it because Daryl kept stealing glances out of the corner of his eye—and rubbed her hand over her belly.

"Before—out there? It was easy to just think that it would be over," Carol said. "One day would just be a really bad day and there'd be no more baby, you know? I'd have to explain to everyone that there had been, but then there wasn't."

"Pretty sad way to look at it," Daryl offered.

"Isn't that what it is, though?" Carol asked. Daryl wasn't certain that the question was really one she intended for him to answer. "I'm a mother and then…I'm not. It all happens in an instant."

Daryl didn't expect the statement to make it feel like he'd been impaled by a hot steel pole, but it did.

It wasn't even his grief. He shouldn't feel it as sharply as he did. Yet, suddenly, he found it a great deal harder to breathe than he generally remembered the action to be.

"You're always a mother," Daryl said. "Nothin' takes that away."

"Just a mother with…no children," Carol said.

Daryl stood up. He walked around the bed and opened the window. It took him a moment of playing with the locks to figure out how to slide it up. He welcomed the distraction for a moment. He knew, now, that he would have given his right arm to have kept Sophia from coming out of that barn—to have had the chance to have delivered her, healthy and alive, into her mother's arms.

He'd had more than one nightmare about the girl, himself, but he'd simply lied and told Carol that it was about something else. She had no reason to question what he said his nightmares were about.

Daryl got the cup off the nightstand he'd used for water the night before and used it for an ashtray at the moment.

"You gotta be positive," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Who are you?" She asked. "Mr. Rogers?"

"I just—know that negativity poisons you," Daryl said. "Poisons all of us. You gotta be positive because that baby don't need to grow in poison."

"When we were out there," Carol said, "I kept expecting it to end. I kept waiting on it. I'd go to sleep and my stomach would hurt and I'd think…tomorrow will be the day. But it wasn't."

"Your stomach hurtin' was you damn near starvin' to death," Daryl said.

"When we left the group—that was the first time I didn't think that tomorrow, or the next day, or the next day would be the day," Carol said.

"Got distracted," Daryl offered. He cleared his throat. The tight feeling that had been suffocating him when he'd practically been trying to claw his way out of the window was passing. The air in the room was lightening.

"I felt safe," Carol said. "Secure. Cared for. I started to actually feel like—there was some hope."

"We got more hope now than we did then," Daryl said. "You really looked at this place? I had a good look at them fences. They're solid and there's three layers of fencing. They been working steady on this place since the very beginning and it was protected before the outbreak even started. This is the kinda place where people live. Babies live here."

"One baby," Carol said. "None of the rest have made it."

"Because they was in a bad way," Daryl offered.

"What if…?" Carol asked, but she didn't fill in the rest of the question.

"What if it ain't?" Daryl asked. "Look—you might not like the answer to a question, but at least you get an answer. It's better than livin' scared and not knowin'."

Carol stared at him across the bed. She dropped her eyes and picked at the corner of the blanket.

"You're right," she said. "One way or another—I know what I'm dealing with, right? I know—if I'm just waiting for tomorrow or…"

"Or if we're going to get one of them cribs that Merle says they got in storage an' get it put together in that extra bedroom," Daryl offered.

"We can go to the doctor right after breakfast," Carol said. "And that'll give both of us the whole afternoon to work."

Daryl felt a catch. He laughed nervously to himself.

"You want me to go with you?" He asked. "To the doctor?"

"You weren't going to go?" Carol asked.

"Well—it's kind of a private thing, ain't it? Personal?" Daryl asked.

Carol frowned at him, but she quickly turned her face away to examine the blanket and hide her expression.

"I just thought—everyone thinks you're my husband and the baby's father," Carol said. It hung between them for what felt like an eternity, though it was really only a matter of a few silent seconds. Daryl really didn't know what to say. He didn't know how to respond. On the one hand, he felt oddly terrified of the visit. He might push Carol to go and face the truth, but he wasn't too thrilled about the possibilities if things didn't turn out the way he wanted. Furthermore, he didn't want to feel like he was invading her privacy. Yet, something about her tone of voice and expression told him that she was disappointed that he was considering not going. "But it'll be fine. I doubt anyone will really say anything. Or think anything. Ed—never went with me for anything with Sophia."

The hand that had impaled Daryl with the hot steel pole earlier twisted the pole a little before shoving it deeper through Daryl's body. He took another two drags off the cigarette in rapid succession—feeling like he needed far more strength than the nicotine gave him, and he dropped the cigarette butt into the cup before he put it on the windowsill and walked over to the little chair in the bedroom where his clothes from the day before were tossed haphazardly. He picked up his jeans and stepped into them.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked.

"Getting dressed," Daryl said. "We need to get to breakfast so we can get to see the doctors early. Like you said—we both got work for this afternoon and evening."

"You're going with me?" Carol asked.

"Unless you don't want me to," Daryl offered. "It's what you want."

Carol smirked at him—the damn smirk that meant she was about to tease him. He pretended he hated it but, really, he loved it. He loved it so much just that the thought that she was about to tease him made his heart beat a little faster.

"Of course, I want you to go," Carol said. "Will you hold my hand, too?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Shut up," he said. "Get your clothes on."


	24. Chapter 24

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Literally everyone here is available to you," Alice said. "So—don't feel like you'll hurt my feelings or anything if you want to talk to everyone. You can see everyone, if that's what you want. We're not, like, in competition with each other or anything. And we're all pretty much available twenty-four-seven."

"Don't you gotta sleep?" Daryl asked quickly.

"Well…yes and no," Alice said. "I mean we sleep whenever we want, but we live a pretty blessed life here, especially with Merle running things."

Daryl laughed and the woman looked at him quizzically. He shook his head.

"You hadn't known my brother like I've known my brother," Daryl said. "The idea that he's responsible for building some kinda Eden is a little hard to accept with a straight face."

"He didn't build it," Alice said. "I've been here since the start of the outbreak and this place has, too. He just changed things. As a surgeon? I'm protected in ways you wouldn't believe. Pardon my French, but I live a super fucking blessed life here now. Really. I don't have to go out there…ever…unless I want to. I'm taken care of. My needs are met. The only thing that I have to do is be ready and available whenever the proverbial call comes."

"Doctors are hard to come by," Daryl ceded.

Alice nodded.

"I guess they are out there," she said. "We've got four. We don't need the whole force very often, but it's not too bad knowing they're here." She turned her attention to Carol. "And for that reason, I said you can see whoever you want. You've got choices."

"I know," Carol said. "But—I prefer you. I know you. We had dinner together and…I like you. You're easy to talk to."

Alice laughed to herself.

"I promise my colleagues are some pretty cool guys as well," Alice offered.

"But they're men," Carol said. "And if it's all the same to you…"

Alice nodded.

"It's totally great with me if that's what you want," Alice said. "I'm here to serve you. So—if you're sure, why don't you come with me and I'll show you around a little?"

They followed her through the cabin that had been turned into a clinic. The neighboring one, she told them, had been turned into a hospital. It allowed for patients who needed to stay longer to recover from injuries under observation, and it was set up to allow for surgeries. Daryl hoped that neither of them had any reason to see the other medical building—at least not for a while and not for any serious reason.

This one, it seemed, was set up more like the traditional doctor's offices from before.

Daryl listened to very little of her words, though, until she led them to a room and opened the door.

"And this is my office," she said. "We're actually remodeling still—and I don't know how long that will go on. In the future, I hope that I've got a better set-up, but this is what I have for now."

Daryl followed Carol inside. It was clearly a bedroom converted into something of an exam room.

"Looks OK to me," Daryl said.

"I'd prefer that the floors were something other than wood," Alice said. "But at least they're not carpet. And—we finally got real exam tables, so that's a step up from the days when we were using kitchen tables. Carol—we're going to need an ultrasound machine, so I'm going to have to move one in here. While I'm doing that, do you want to get undressed? There are some clean cloth gowns in that stack over there and those blankets are clean if you're feeling a little exposed."

Carol nodded and Alice started out of the room. Daryl called after her.

"Need a hand with that?" He asked.

"No," she said sincerely. "It's mounted on wheels. And I hit the jackpot of a downstairs room so everything is pretty convenient for me. I'll be right back. You two just—get comfortable."

Daryl nervously turned his back to Carol and walked across the room to focus on the bookshelf. It was stocked with medical books. Beside it, there was a file cabinet. There were also several tables in the room and two dressers. There were a couple of chairs, as well.

"I'm sorry—I was gonna give you privacy," Daryl offered. He knew that, behind him, Carol was changing into the gown.

"It's fine," Carol said. "I'm so nervous—I'd rather not be alone."

"She seems friendly," Daryl said.

"She's very friendly," Carol said.

"Seems honest," Daryl said. "That's a real good thing."

Before they could talk much more about the merits of the doctor, there was a knock at the door and she opened it.

"Can I come in?" She asked. Carol told her she could, and the woman came in wheeling the machine that she'd spoken about. She set about setting it up.

"Any of you baby doctors?" Daryl asked.

"Whether you mean obstetricians or pediatricians, the answer remains the same. Not by specialty," Alice said. "But, of course, we've all had some general training."

"You said none have made it here," Daryl said. "Why is that?"

"We have a baby here, but she was born before all of this. What I said was that we haven't had any live births. As for why, it's hard to say exactly," Alice said. "I mean—we're not set up to do a lot of analysis. We've been set back more than a few decades in the way we do things. Still—I don't know that the specifics matter that much. Most of the time it seems to be poor maternal health. Most of the time, we get an expectant mother in here and she's barely making it. Starvation, injury—maybe even trauma plays into it. Something has to give and her body knows that. Sometimes we lose the baby, and sometimes we lose both."

Daryl looked over at Carol, perched on the table, when he heard her breathing catch. He rushed over to her and caught her face in his hands.

"Hey—hey—you OK?" He asked.

She shook her head at him.

"Look at me," he said. "Breathe…just breathe…look at me."

Alice rushed over as well.

"Hey! Mama…Daddy's right, OK? Look at him or look at me, OK. I didn't mean to upset you. The women that we've seen come in here? They've been in some bad shape, Mama, OK? Some bad shape. Not like you. Can you tell me—hey, can you tell me what was your favorite hobby before you got here?"

Carol looked at her. Confusion crossed her features, but it took the place of some of the panicked expression.

"What?" She asked.

"Your favorite hobby," Alice said. "You know. What'd you like to do? For fun? Before all of this."

"I liked—to bake," Carol said.

"Yeah?" Alice said. "Like cakes or…?"

"Cakes," Carol said. "And pies. Cookies. My daughter liked cupcakes…so I baked a lot of those."

"What's your specialty?" Alice asked. "The real don't miss this shit in your kitchen?"

Carol's breathing was slowing down. She even laughed to herself.

"Sophia liked chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing," Carol said.

"I'm a double chocolate girl myself," Alice said. She nudged Daryl out of the way and he stepped aside to give her complete access to Carol. Without saying anything, she started a quick exploration of Carol's body—just the typical checking her glands and looking her over without the need of any kind of real invasion of her space. "Tell me about—Sophia?"

"My daughter," Carol said.

She froze, immediately, like she'd just realized what was happening. She froze like she'd just realized what she was saying and what she'd been talking about. Almost immediately after they'd put Sophia in the ground, Carol had given up crying. She'd declared that she was cried out and her mourning was done. She had no more tears to shed. Daryl knew, of course, that it was a lie and she was postponing dealing with what would eventually have to be dealt with, but he could no more force her to deal with her feelings than he could force the rain to stop when it started. Beyond that, the world they were living in didn't exactly allow for a great deal of time to grieve.

She was keeping her grief locked up tight inside her—like a secret that only they knew about—but suddenly some of it bubbled out and Daryl saw her cry for the first time since Sophia had been buried on Hershel's farm.

And it was a body-shaking cry that seemed to even scare Carol herself.

Alice responded simply by wrapping her arms around Carol and pulling her into a hug. She stood there, rubbing her back, and shushing her more like she was her mother than her doctor. Daryl didn't know, exactly, what else she might have done.

"Sophia was her daughter," Daryl offered softly. "We lost her. Not—it ain't been—prob'ly maybe six months? If even that."

Alice nodded at him. She made eye contact with him. But she simply rocked Carol from side to side and Carol cried solidly for a few moments. And then, almost as quickly as the crying started, it abruptly stopped and was replaced by a string of apologies.

"Grief has a way of surprising us," Alice said. "Over and over again. Don't apologize for it. The whole world is grieving now. Every single person you meet is grieving."

Carol accepted the handkerchief that Daryl gave her and she let him hug her when Alice went to wash her hands in the adjoining bathroom. Then the brunette returned.

"I'm not going to listen to your heart and all right now, OK?" Alice said. "I know it's a little broken and—maybe it's not beating the same way it will be in a while. But—tragedies like this? That's why we need good things, right? I'm sorry about your little one…"

"She was eleven," Carol breathed out.

"And still your baby," Alice offered.

Carol sobbed again and Daryl grabbed her to him quickly, but it was only a short burst of sound that escaped before she got it under control. He was sure, in that moment, that there would be many more tears. She was ready to start grieving—and she needed to do so.

Just, perhaps, not here.

"I'm sorry that you lost her," Alice said. "But—why don't we see how this little one's doing, OK?"

"OK," Carol agreed. She nodded. She followed Alice's softly offered instructions of making herself comfortable on the table. She allowed Alice to drape her in the sheet, and she accepted everything that Alice asked to do to her as the woman walked around her and pressed and probed her body. Daryl kept some distance, but he did notice that the woman seemed to carefully and thoroughly inspect every single inch of Carol—inside and out for as much as her body allowed.

"Everything looks good," Alice said, when she returned from washing her hands again. She dropped the towel she used on the table beside the machine. "Your body is in it to win it, right now. You're showing no signs of trouble with your cervix."

"What does that mean?" Daryl asked.

"It means that there are no signs of preterm labor," Alice said. "We're not trying to have this baby right away—and that's a good thing. Now—I'm going to see if we can see the little one. I've done some training on these machines, but I'm going to tell you up front that it wasn't my specialty and it takes me a couple of minutes of searching around to find what I'm looking for."

Carol laughed. She was relaxing. The good news she'd gotten so far, coupled with having cried herself out a good bit, seemed to really make her tired.

"Take your time," Carol said.

"I can totally print you a picture of your little one if we get a good shot, though," Alice said. "So that's a prize for your patience. Right, Mama? Would you be a Mama or a…Mom?"

"Mama," Carol offered. "Or Mommy."

"And you?" Alice asked. She looked at Daryl and Daryl's heart thundered out a warning. He looked at Carol and she was smiling at him. When he didn't answer and didn't look away, she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Daddy?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl accepted. "Yeah—Daddy."

"It's none of my business," Alice said. "And you don't have to answer, but…first baby together?"

"Yeah," Carol said.

"Congratulations," Alice said.

"Actually," Carol said, as Alice spread something on her belly and started working with the machine she'd already declared herself to be less than an expert at using, "you should probably know that—I was married before. And—he was…well…he was…"

"What?" Alice pressed after a second.

"He was an asshole," Daryl supplied. "A complete and utter fuckin' asshole. And there ain't nobody sad he's dead."

"I've known a few of those in my life," Alice said.

"He was abusive," Carol said. "For—fourteen years..."

"And you're worried that he might have done some lasting damage," Alice said. Carol hummed at her. "Everything looks OK right now, but we'll keep an eye out. Just in case. OK—Mama, Daddy, look here. There you go. You see? Right there's a face and there's the spine and…that? That's the heart. See it beating? And—listen. That's the sound of it."

"Is it panicking?" Daryl asked. "That's ridiculously fast."

Alice laughed.

"It's normal," Alice said. "Trust me. No panic at all."

It was a baby on the screen. Daryl could make out some of it from time to time. Alice searched around, looking at different things—the screen flicking from one angle to another—and Daryl kept losing any clear sense of what he was seeing. But he could see it moving. He could see hands moving and feet moving. He could see the flickering spot of the heart. He could even see, and it made Carol laugh when she saw it, the moment that the baby on the screen opened its mouth and Alice declared that it had yawned.

They had possibly disturbed its nap.

"Is it OK?" Carol asked.

"From what I can see," Alice said, "you should have about twelve weeks left to go, Mama. It looks like you're in the home stretch. We desperately need to get some weight on you, though, like yesterday, because baby's going to need some, OK? She's reading a lot smaller than she should be, but she's looking good. She's looking healthy and we've got a lot of movement. She just needs a little meat on her bones now."

"She?" Daryl asked, almost at exactly the same moment that Carol asked it.

"She," Alice said.

"You can see that?" Daryl asked.

Alice laughed.

"It's what I can't see that tells me it's a girl," Alice said. "Here—I'm going to move it again. See that? That's a leg. And that? That's another leg. And you see what's between them?"

"I don't see anything," Daryl admitted.

"That's exactly the point," Alice said. "OK—I'm going to set one of these pretty profiles I got to print and…I'm going to get a read on your blood pressure and heartbeat, OK?"

"They aren't good," Carol said.

Alice laughed to herself. She used the towel she'd had before to wipe Carol's belly clean and then she tossed it into a large basket of towels.

"As long as your heart's ticking," Alice said, "that's mostly what I want to hear. And when Daddy takes you out of here to get a snack and celebrate, your blood pressure will even out a little." Carol sat up and allowed Alice to listen to her heart. She accepted, too, the blood pressure cuff when Alice came with it. "You know they bake dessert for every meal? They'll make special requests, too. Maybe—you could ask for a couple of cupcakes. Tell them it's doctor's orders to celebrate. Something—in honor of Sophia, maybe."

Carol frowned, but there was a glimmer of a smile in her eyes like her face didn't know what it wanted to do.

"You're sure it's a girl?" Carol asked.

"As sure as I can be," Alice said. "I make mistakes like every other human, though. You're fine, Mama. You'll calm down when you get some fresh air and get outta here. You can get dressed."

"You're sure—she's healthy?" Carol asked. Daryl focused intently on the bookshelf, again, while Carol got dressed.

"I'm sure she's very much alive," Alice said. "And I'm sure that your body has a vested interest in keeping her that way. So do I. I'm afraid that's all the guarantee that I can give you. We're going to do our best."

"Is that what you told—the other women?" Carol asked. "The ones that…lost their babies?"

"I did tell them that we were going to do our best," Alice admitted. "And I swear we did. I know what you're thinking. But the situation was a lot bleaker then. I've got some real hope for Andrea's baby and, now, for yours. Our luck is turning around—and it's about time we started really building a future."

Carol smiled to herself and nodded.

"What can I do to help her?" Daryl asked. He felt Carol looking at him, but he focused on Alice's face because he wasn't sure he could look at Carol at that exact moment. He didn't know if she was dressed, and he also wasn't sure he could face whatever expression she might be wearing.

"Lots of yummy food," Alice said. "All she wants. This isn't a time to worry about counting calories unless we're counting up. Light exercise is good for her, but she's on gentle work detail. Some relaxing massages might not hurt. Be careful with warm baths. Don't get the water too hot. Just kind of hot. Anything that you'd normally do to be happy and relaxed. That's all that Mama needs right now. And take her to get some treats. I was serious. You need to celebrate. Really celebrate. Make it a big deal."

"Thank you," Carol said sincerely.

"Thanks," Daryl said.

"Don't thank me," Alice said. "It's just my job. It's what I do. How I sing for my supper, right?"

"It might be a little more than that," Carol offered.

She thanked Alice again when the woman brought her the printed picture. She pinched it delicately between her fingers.

"We have tons of picture covers and frames in storage," Alice said. "Someone can hook you up. That's a good-looking kid you've got there. And I'm happy that I get to tell you that she's doing OK."

She led both of them to the door to let them out of the room. From there they could easily find their way out of the clinic.

"I'm happy you could tell us that, too," Carol admitted.

"Go enjoy her," Alice said. "I'm serious. And enjoy each other. You're both very lucky."

"Thanks," Carol offered. "We—we really are."

Daryl echoed the sentiment. And, really, he felt it, too. He felt lucky. None of it, after all—none of the happiness surrounding the moment and the new life that was absolutely on the horizon—might really be his, but he was lucky enough to enjoy it for a moment.

And he intended to enjoy it for however long it lasted.


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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The dining area was empty. Carol sat alone at the little table by a window in the back room of the dining area and waited for Daryl, just as he'd instructed her to do.

They'd gone directly to a cabin that was used as storage and they'd found a frame for the picture that Carol was carrying around. Then they'd taken a short walk around the community, decided to see about doing a little target shooting to allow Carol the opportunity to practice with her bow, and then they'd gone to the dining are where Daryl had made Carol sit at the table by the sunny window while he'd gone to see about the snack that Alice had ordered her to have.

Carol didn't know how to tell him that making a fuss over her wasn't necessary. It wasn't something she expected from him just because T-Dog had roped him into a fake marriage to earn himself a guarantee that the guard woman—Michonne—wouldn't have any interest in Daryl. Of course, so far, T-Dog hadn't quite been able to draw her interest anyway.

Carol didn't know how to tell Daryl that she'd never really learned how to be comfortable when anyone made any sort of fuss over her.

The last time that she'd even felt really important was when Sophia had been born. Though people liked to tell horror stories of the pain of childbirth and everything they'd suffered delivering their child into the world, Carol hadn't focused on the pain very much. She'd delivered Sophia into the world naturally, but Ed had already taught her about expecting to endure pain.

When Sophia had been born, Ed had left the hospital almost as soon as he realized it wasn't going to be something, they finished within a half hour. He hadn't come back until the next day when the hospital had called several times to let him know that Carol needed to leave with their child. Carol hadn't missed him at all. During her labor and delivery, her nurses and orderlies had been the kindest people she could imagine. They'd given her little treats, made sure she was as comfortable as she could be, told her how important and amazing she was for bringing a little one into the world, and had offered her gentle touches like a hand to hold, a cool rag on her forehead, or simply brushing back of sweat-soaked hair.

Carol practically remembered giving birth to Sophia as a vacation; at the end of which, she'd won the amazing prize of a perfect baby girl and a few quiet hours to spend with her under the protective watch of hospital staff.

After the birth of their daughter, Ed had become less enamored of Carol than he had been before. Since they'd married, his affections for her seemed to be simply draining out of his body. The birth of Sophia had sped up the process.

Carol wasn't used to someone making a fuss over her, but Daryl played his part well. He may have been embarrassed to know it, but he was a good actor. Even Carol almost believed his performance.

Carol couldn't help but smile at his smile as he came toward the table from the kitchen in the back. He carried a tall glass of milk in one hand and a plate in the other. With far more enthusiasm than he normally used for anything, Daryl put both in front of Carol. He sat down, his knee bouncing a little in the few seconds that Carol took to smell the food.

"You said you wanted cinnamon," Daryl said. "And they workin' on cake for dinner's dessert, but this oughta be a good snack."

Carol smiled.

"French toast," she mused. It had been a surprise. He'd asked her what she wanted and, after she'd insisted for a while that she didn't need anything, she'd finally given in and told him nothing more than she thought she might be craving the taste of cinnamon.

"You hate it," Daryl said. Carol thought she actually saw his features droop. He was clearly bothered that he'd made such a poor choice.

"I don't!" She said quickly. "I don't. It's just…there's nobody else here." She assumed the front room of the dining area looked as empty as this room. It had when they'd passed through it.

Daryl looked around and shrugged his shoulders.

"I told 'em doctor's orders. We had a hungry baby out here," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "They didn't care."

"That's just it…I'm not hungry," Carol said. "I mean—I could eat, but I could wait until lunch. I don't need special treatment or…or two breakfasts."

Daryl reached and took the napkin. He unrolled it to spill the silverware out on the table. Carol pushed the plate toward him, hoping that he was about to enjoy some of the French toast swimming in syrup. Daryl took the fork from the small pile of silverware and cut the corner off the French toast. He didn't eat it, though. Instead, he offered it in her direction.

A small hint of a smile turned the corner of his mouth upward. Carol's pulse picked up at his expression. It was such a simple gesture.

"What are you doing?" Carol asked. She thought her heart might explode. She had no reason and no right to be reacting this way to something so simple. Her reaction was absolutely ridiculous, but it seemed like her body didn't want to hear about rights and reasons.

Daryl's smile only seemed to increase a little as he brought the fork closer to her mouth.

"You been turnin' down food too long," Daryl said. "It's become a habit. You don't even know you doin' it. You gotta eat somethin'. For her." Carol started to protest, but he pushed the toast toward her when she went to move her mouth and it brushed her lips when she closed them to smile at him. He laughed to himself. "Come on," he urged. "It's gonna be good. You know you want it. So—open up and take it."

Carol was ashamed at the thought her brain offered—a tugging desire to hear him say the same words, but about something entirely different than French toast.

He wouldn't ever say that, though, and she was sure that much of his kindness was simply owing to the fact that their time together had led him to care for her as a friend and travelling companion—and he was most assuredly the kind of man who wanted the best for children; perhaps because he'd known a great deal of unkindness while he'd been a child.

Carol succumbed and took his offering. He smiled, clearly satisfied, as he drew the fork back.

"Good?" He asked as soon as she started chewing. She hummed at him. It was good. He cut another piece off, instead of passing the fork over to her like she expected, and her heart danced around wildly in her chest. Daryl was teasing with her. He was being friendly. He didn't realize that the way he was looking at her—with an intensity that was very uniquely Daryl and with that crooked smile on his lips—was driving her mad with the desire to believe that this was something more than it was or, at the very least, that it could be. She accepted the second bite that he offered her, and she felt the warmth of the blood rushing to her cheeks. She thought, for a second, that his cheeks even blushed pink in response.

"That's the kinda ridiculous shit I was waitin' to see!"

The sound startled Daryl so thoroughly that he dropped the fork. It clattered on the table, tapping the plate in the process to add to the din that it created. It startled Carol to the point that she nearly tipped out of her chair and, in the process of grabbing for the side of the small table, she sent the photo frame skittering to the floor.

Merle stopped just as his boots nearly touched the frame. He put his cup of coffee down on the table that was practically beside them. He reached down and picked up the frame. He held it in his hand a moment without looking at it.

"Holy shit," he said. "I didn't catch you with your pants down fuckin'! I mean—maybe you was headed there but there ain't no need to be so damned jumpy."

He kicked out a chair at the table where his coffee cup rested and sat down in the chair, watching the both of them. Carol couldn't bring herself to look at Daryl, so she simply focused on watching the far wall with occasional glances in Merle's direction.

"To be honest," Merle said, musing over the floor as he tipped his chair back to sit in it improperly, "I'm happy to see it. Damn happy. Hell—was sayin' to Andrea this mornin' how—I knowed my lil' brother couldn't be that big an asshole but I seen you leave your lil' woman at least three times yesterday that you ain't even kissed her to…ya know…leave her with somethin' if shit went south. Andrea woulda had my ass if I'da tried that—for every damn person here to see."

He laughed to himself.

"Daryl and I…have an understanding," Carol said.

"Sometimes I forget," Daryl said at almost the same time.

"Too damn preoccupied if you forget to kiss your woman an' you ain't got a Walker on your ass, boy," Merle said. He smiled at Carol and winked. "Especially if she's as cute as your Mouse. Don't tell Andrea I said that, though. She gets kinda jumpy—especially lately."

"That's 'cause your ass is unreliable," Daryl said. He seemed to relax, suddenly, with a way to tease his brother. "Got that damned wanderin' eye."

Merle laughed to himself.

"Things change, brother," Merle said. "People, too." He turned the frame over in his hand and actually looked at this time. He rotated it, clearly turning it so that it would be right side up. He stared at it, brow furrowed, for a moment before he smiled. "Fuckin' looks like a kid you made," Merle said. "Got a damn alien, myself. They swear it'll turn into somethin' though. Eight weeks looks like a fuckin' jellybean, you know that shit?"

"Carol ain't got but twelve weeks left to go," Daryl said. "It's a baby girl."

"A baby girl, huh?" Merle mused, examining the picture. "A lil' girl…" He smiled to himself and offered the picture out in Carol's direction. She took it from him and put it back on the table where it had been sitting before she'd knocked it to the floor. Luckily, it hadn't cracked when it had hit the wooden floor. "Looks like you done good, Mouse. Which doctor you talk to?"

"Alice," Carol said.

"Andrea likes her, too," Merle said. "An' she's a fan of the ladies, if you catch my drift. Still—if Andrea don't care at her catchin' a peek, I don't give a shit. More damn comfortable with that than I would be if it was one of the other doctors." He hummed. He stopped speaking and looked at Daryl. Carol dared to let her eyes flick in Daryl's direction. He was clearly still nervous. While she was looking at him, he let his eyes dart over toward her, and then he immediately snatched them away. "Clean bill of health?" Merle asked, directing his question toward Daryl. He picked up his coffee cup and drank down a long swallow of the clearly cooled liquid.

Daryl cleared his throat, but made it clear that he intended to answer his brother, so Carol didn't interrupt him.

"Baby needs to fatten up," Daryl said. "Gotta get some weight on Carol."

Merle smirked at Carol.

"This is the place to do it," he said. "Besides—lil' skin on your bones, Mouse? Bound to be good for the whole family. If you catch my drift."

Carol's face burned hot because she did catch what Merle was saying. What he didn't know, though, was that the brother he was teasing wasn't involved with her at all—not in that way. And he wasn't going to have any opinion on whether or not she carried more or less proverbial skin on her bones.

"Shut up, Merle," Daryl offered to his brother. Merle laughed and drained at least another third of his coffee cup. "What the hell you want, anyway?"

"Come for a lil' coffee," Merle said. "They told me my baby brother an' his wife was back here makin' out over some brunch. I had to come see a fuckin' pair of Dixons havin' brunch. While I was here, figured I'd see if I could get your help on a quick job over at one of the cabins. I could use a couple decent hands. I ain't meant to interrupt your fattenin' up, Mouse."

He gestured toward the plate and Carol frowned at it. She gathered up the fork that rested on the table, and she moved it to the plate, but she did little else with the food.

"I'm not that hungry," she said.

"At least drink your milk," Daryl said. He stood up to presumably go with Merle. Merle got to his feet and drained the last of his coffee. He put the mug in front of the spot where Daryl had been sitting and kicked the chair back into place before he stepped away a step or two.

"Don't make him fret about you all day or he ain't gonna be no good to nobody," Merle said. "Daryl could worry a damn hole through metal. Drink your milk. Eat some of that food. Leave the plates. They'll come an' clean all this up. Then you oughta go an' find Andrea. She's out helpin' at the greenhouses."

"I will," Carol assured him, simply, because there was no need to argue with anything.

"You mind?" Daryl asked, clearly asking if she minded that he go with Merle rather than stay there to entertain her throughout the day. She shook her head.

"Go ahead," she said. "Andrea can show me around some more."

Daryl nodded and started to walk off, but Merle interrupted his departure with a loud clearing of his throat.

"You forgettin' somethin'?" Merle asked.

"What?" Daryl asked him.

Merle looked practically incredulous. He gestured in Carol's direction and jogged Daryl' s memory.

Carol's stomach twisted. She didn't know how to save Daryl. She didn't know what to say or do to keep him from having to do something that he wouldn't want to do just to satisfy his unknowing brother. Daryl walked toward her and Carol thought he looked terrified. Maybe he even looked apologetic. Maybe instead of terror it was simply distaste.

Carol moved to whisper out an apology to Daryl, but she didn't get the chance. His lips covered hers as he leaned over her. She expected the soft, quick peck that would be necessary to satisfy Merle's expectations of how Daryl should take his leave. She didn't expect that, at the touching of their lips, Daryl would come at her, harder, seeking more of a kiss. She didn't expect that his hand would go to the back of her head or that he would squeeze the back of her neck as he scraped his teeth against her bottom lip before returning, once more, for a bit more of her mouth.

She didn't expect that she'd respond to the kiss so completely, either, sliding a little in her chair. She didn't mean for the moan to escape her lips and she didn't expect the oddly satisfied growl to rumble in Daryl's throat.

She didn't expect the reaction of every single cell in her body when he pulled away from her and looked at her with dark eyes, for just a moment, before he turned and practically left the dining area, with his brother right behind him, at a rather brisk walk.

Carol sat there, stunned for a moment, even as she heard Merle talking to Daryl in the distance.

"Damn boy," Merle said. "When you remember, you sure as shit remember…"


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think.**

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Daryl hadn't actually meant to kiss Carol like he'd kissed her. That thought pinballed around inside his brain the whole time that he walked with Merle to the cabin where Merle required his help taking care of a relatively minor plumbing problem that mostly required the used of more than one hand. Daryl's minor panic attack over the kiss occupied his mind so completely that he wasn't able to really listen to what his brother said. Somewhere, almost distant and outside of everything, he could hear his brother talking about Andrea. He could hear his brother talking about the community and plans and work and any number of things. But he couldn't hear it clearly because all his brain really wanted to talk to him about was the kiss.

Daryl had meant to peck her lips. He'd meant to kiss her just enough to satisfy Merle. That had been his intention. After all, what if she didn't want the kiss? What if it was forced on her and she had to pretend to like it? A peck could be easily forgotten and forgiven.

As soon as he leaned close to her, though, his brain was singing a different song. He'd watched her. He'd studied her. He knew so much about her that she'd probably be horrified to know that he'd gathered from watching her when he really should have given her some privacy.

For his entire life, Daryl had loved to taste things. He'd loved to bite things. He'd loved the sensation of pressure that came from biting. He'd loved to lick things. He'd had a fascination with imagining what things might taste like and how they might feel on his tongue and caught between his teeth. He'd always appreciated flavors and textures. He'd often felt a compulsion to taste things that he really had no business—knowing all that he knew about germs and toxins—introducing into his mouth.

If it wouldn't kill him, though, he often lacked the ability to overcome the compulsion.

How could he admit, though, how many times he'd dreamed about his mouth being on Carol's? He'd thought, at least a thousand times or more, about what it might be like to kiss her—to really kiss her. He'd daydreamed about how that kiss would somehow be so much more than a kiss.

By the time he leaned to kiss her—his brain feeling like it was firing off thoughts and wild scenarios at a thousand miles a minute—he'd decided to kiss her with at least a little more enthusiasm than a peck. He'd decided that this might be his only chance. It might be his only opportunity. Even if she didn't appreciate it, she'd forgive it to keep the secret, and at least he'd have the one kiss to keep in his memory and to use as fuel for his daydreams.

When their lips touched, though, he'd lost all control and all reason. Her lips were soft and sweet—literally sweet because he could taste the syrup of the French toast—and his whole body went wild with the desire to taste more of her. He wanted, in an instant, to taste every single square inch of her body. His brain started to fire even more rapidly than it had, and it stopped working all at the same time.

For just a moment, Carol had been everything. There had been nothing more.

And Daryl could barely breathe when he'd broken the kiss. He'd heard her soft little moan when he'd kissed her—a sound that was burned into his brain now to play, possibly forever, on repeat, when he could hear more than the sound of his own blood rushing past his ears. He'd tried to judge her expression when he'd straightened up from the kiss, but she'd mostly looked surprised and he'd been afraid to linger there too long and see that surprise take shape as a definitive response. He'd feared that he wouldn't care for the expression that came next. It wouldn't be what he desperately wanted it to be.

The walk over to the cabin had been excruciating. Daryl's body had cruelly reacted to the kiss with interest that he wasn't able to entertain. He was glad his brother was distracted with whatever the hell he was talking about and didn't notice Daryl's need to walk off the unrequited interest.

As soon as the plumbing job was done, though, and he could run away from Merle as fast as was possible, Daryl offered his brother a bullshit excuse of needing time to go and take a shit—something he preferred to do in the privacy of his own newly-minted home—and he promised to catch up with him in a bit to get started on some other jobs with which he could help. Merle had ribbed him a little about making sure he took the opportunity to swing by their storage cabin and stock up on reading material for what he called the daily constitutional, but he'd let Daryl go without much delay or discussion.

Daryl didn't need to shit. The only reading material that might have done him any good would have been a magazine or two like the ones that Merle used to keep tucked under his mattress. He didn't really need those, though. His mind had plenty to offer him at the moment, even if most of it was fantasy comprised of a few snatches of accidentally seen body.

Daryl was so happy to find the cabin abandoned that he almost couldn't stand it. His mind was already firing off fantasies and images. He had always had a very vivid imagination, and right now it had shifted into overdrive. He slipped directly into the bedroom, closed the door, and looked around. It took him less than a moment to find what he was searching for in the drawer—a handkerchief that he could use to clean up his mess. He would only hope that Carol, when she washed clothes, since she was the one who always did their laundry, didn't pay enough attention to notice what the cloth had been used to clean.

Grabbing her nightgown, tossed over the chair in the corner of the room, had been something that had just happened accidentally. Daryl hadn't been thinking about it. When he'd seen it, it had simply happened. It was soft, and when he put it to his face and inhaled, he thought he could smell her, however faintly.

He unfastened his pants, freed his dick, and got comfortable on the bed. He closed his eyes and smelled the nightgown again, immediately feeling a little ashamed of his choices. He almost felt like he should apologize to Carol for letting his mind use her in such a way, but to apologize to her would be to admit to her that he thought of her when he needed to relieve a little tension.

He took his time. He didn't want to rush things. He had bought himself some time and some quiet, and he wanted to enjoy the images that his brain offered him. He liked the sensation of the slow and drawn-out building up of feelings and desires. He liked the mind-blowing release that he knew it could lead up to if he didn't rush.

His mind was busier than it had been before. Now it remembered how she tasted. It remembered how he'd felt when her lips had been on his. It remembered the feeling of her hair and the soft skin on the back of her neck when his fingers had found their purchase there. It remembered the softness of her lips and the way she opened them to him, just slightly, and how she kissed him back softly and caught his bottom lip between her lips. He remembered the dampness she'd left behind on his lips. His mind remembered the hunger that had surged up in him—the almost uncontrollable desire to keep kissing her lips like that and, then, maybe to kiss the rest of her.

He remembered when he'd caught a glimpse of her breast one time—just enough to make out the profile of it. He remembered her nipple and how it had stood at attention because the water she'd been bathing with was cold. It had been his job to make sure that Walkers didn't disturb her bath. It hadn't been his job to memorize the curve of her breast or the shape of her nipple. He hadn't meant to do it. He'd meant to look away. But they'd been the most beautiful breasts he'd ever seen.

He imagined being given permission to run his tongue over the peaks of her nipples. To suck them. To kiss her breasts. He imagined how soft their skin would feel against his lips—perhaps even softer than her lips. He imagined being aware of her breathing as he lingered there at her chest.

His own breathing was erratic. He panted at the thought alone, and he wondered if she might react the same way to the attention he'd like to give her.

He remembered the way that her clothes hugged her belly now that she wasn't hiding it. He felt a twinge of shame at imagining it, but he imagined what her belly would look like bared to him. He remembered the glance he'd caught of it when she'd bared it to Michonne as proof that all she carried in was a baby and nothing more. He imagined kissing her belly. Tasting the saltiness of her skin with his tongue.

He was ashamed over the strange sensation that it brought up in him when he thought about it. It wasn't right that he should feel turned on by a woman who was doing little more than carrying her child, but he was absolutely fascinated to think that life was growing inside of her. She was doing that. She was creating another person.

He felt like it was wrong to find that attractive—and he swore to himself that he'd have a talk with himself some other time about the things that turned him on, and he'd try to fix himself, somehow, from the ways in which he must surely be broken—but at the moment his brain didn't want to hear anything about it. His brain only wanted to run the gamut of everything it found desirable about the woman before it forgot the feeling of her soft lips, the feeling of her warm breath, and the taste of sugar that they'd shared.

He remembered her bare legs in the gown that he held in his hand—the hand that wasn't designated to do the work of relieving his frustrations—and he thought about the curve of her calf muscles and the strength of her thighs. He thought about how he'd watched her—though he shouldn't have—as she walked from the bed to the bathroom in the little cabin just that morning. He thought about how the light had just almost made the gown translucent. How he could see her figure through the fabric—the point where her thighs met. A point where he wished he could taste her with the same open permission that he'd been given to taste her lips that morning.

Daryl's mind imagined tasting other lips. He'd never done such a thing before. He'd never even seen a woman that made him desire to do so. But he'd heard his brother talk about it since he'd been a kid eating fruit flavored cereal and watching Saturday morning cartoons while Merle talked about eating pussy and watching women display their bodies for him for singles.

Daryl imagined his face being allowed at that point between Carol's thighs. He imagined everything there he might taste and suck on. He imagined how soft the skin would be. He imagined how she might taste—earthy and salty and like something that he would never find anywhere else. There had to be, he was sure, something about the way she would taste that would be purely an essence of her—something that would simply belong to her. He had no idea what it might taste like—what she might taste like—but he wanted to know.

He remembered her soft moan from the morning and he wondered if she might make the same sounds as he explored her body with his tongue and teeth and lips. He wondered if she might offer him different moans as he slipped inside her.

Daryl could hardly stand it any longer. He kept his eyes closed, and he finally curled his fingers around himself. He could imagine her wrapped around him in place of his hand. He could imagine her opening herself up to him entirely—physically and emotionally. If she were truly his wife, he would appreciate her offering herself to him. He could imagine that, together, they could somehow ceremonially accept that his release inside of her could make the child she carried as much his as it could possibly be.

They would become a family and, in that way, Daryl would have permission to think of her like this without feeling shame. He would have permission to enjoy her body without feeling apologetic.

Daryl was only as apologetic as he could be when his brain stopped thinking about anything beyond the feeling of his hand working himself toward climax—it closed itself off to any image beyond the two he'd created entirely from imagination. The two he liked best at this particular moment. He imagined himself driving into Carol with the rhythm that felt best to him, and he imagined her face twisted up in pleasure as she gladly accepted what he had to offer her because, in his daydreams, he could please her beyond words.

Daryl didn't mean to come as hard as he did. He didn't mean to create such a mess for himself to clean up—cursing a little at the fact that he hoped Carol didn't notice the addition of any new stains to the bedspread.

When he was done, he was utterly physically exhausted. He was mentally exhausted. He wanted to curl up in bed with his pillow, the soft nightgown, and the lingering snatches of a dream that would never come true.

Instead he had to work.

Later they would talk about the kiss. He was sure of it. It was one of the many reasons he knew he'd needed to relieve the tension that he had.

He could only hope that Carol wouldn't be so angry about it that she would decide to reveal their secret to the group right away. He wasn't ready to give her up, even in fantasy.

And he could only dream that, perhaps, she wanted even another kiss from the likes of him.


	27. Chapter 27

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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"See? This is the one I want," Andrea said.

Carol laughed to herself. It was nice to see things, sometimes, through other people's eyes—especially when that person seemed less jaded by the world than Carol sometimes felt that she'd become.

Andrea was a first-time expectant mother. It was something she'd imagined being, as she told it, someday and when the right man came along and it was the right time, since she'd been a young girl. Maybe she'd never imagined that the right man would be Merle Dixon or that the right time would be when they were trying to build a life in a world that had practically shattered and, arguably, was quite literally in a cycle of decay, but life held surprises.

She was enjoying every second of her surprise. She'd told Carol as much while Carol had helped her with some light work at the greenhouses and then, when they left the job to the others, when they were walking toward the storage cabin. Andrea was trying to get Carol to share, so she was sharing as a way of pressing her.

Andrea ran her hand down the side of the crib that was made of a rich, dark-colored wood.

"It's beautiful," Carol offered.

"I mean—if you really wanted it," Andrea said, "technically…I mean it's more urgent for you and we could find some other things…"

"I don't want it," Carol offered quickly. She saw the flash of relief on Andrea's features. She would have given her the crib if it had been Carol's choice of the few that were stored there in the hope that they would have new additions to their community, but she really wanted it for her own nursery. Carol looked around at the others. "Any crib would do for me," she admitted. "I don't even think…I'm not sure I've completely accepted that…well…that it's real. That the baby's real. That she's real. When we were at the motel and Daryl was kind of…kind of pushing me to start gathering the necessary things? We found a pack and play in the back of a vehicle and I thought that would be enough. If it was too cumbersome to move, a box would have done just as well."

"She's real, though," Andrea said. She was practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. She was entirely different than the woman she'd been after Amy had died. She reminded Carol more of the person that she'd first met at the rock quarry—the woman who had some hope for the future and even some hope that things simply weren't as bad as they had seemed in the beginning. "Alice confirmed it. And I still want to go by your house and see your picture. You know it's real. Not that I really think you could have doubted it too much at this point. I mean—it's kind of obvious."

Carol laughed to herself. She brushed her hand over her belly. The baby in question was real, no matter how much Carol had tried to ignore her during the months. She could feel her movements even now as she protested, more than likely, a lull in activity after Carol had been rocking her with her earlier activity.

"She's real," Carol said.

"I'm happy for you. That you get to start again," Andrea said. "I mean I know that she'd never replace Sophia, and that's not what I mean…"

"She could never replace my Sophia," Carol said. "And I wouldn't want her to. Sophia was Sophia. She was my baby. My first baby and…nobody could ever replace her. But—this baby will be her own person."

"I just mean—I'm glad you get a second chance," Andrea said.

"Me too," Carol admitted. "Even if I didn't realize that it would make me happy." She gestured toward the crib. "Why don't you take it home? Get someone to move it?"

Andrea shrugged her shoulders slightly.

"Alice is all about—if it makes you happy, do it. If you enjoy it, just enjoy it. You know the whole idea of drink deep the marrow of life or whatever."

"Not a bad philosophy," Carol said.

"The other doctors are a bit more cautious," Andrea said. "They remind me that this baby is barely big enough to count. There's no need in getting ahead of myself."

"But Alice doesn't agree?"

"She's cautious," Andrea said. "She'll be the very first to tell you that—doctors are only human, and there are no promises, and the world is cruel. But people leave on runs nearly every day, and sometimes they don't come back. We have assholes that show up and they want to demand things go their way and, when they don't, they want to do things that sometimes cost our people their lives. Death has always been a part of life, but now? It just seems like it's more front and center. If the happiness is there to be had…enjoy it. For tomorrow we die."

The sentiment struck something deep within Carol. It was a philosophy she believed, but she knew she wasn't good at actually living it.

"Tell Merle you want the crib," Carol said. "That one. Tell him you want it now. Fix your nursery. Enjoy—enjoy it. All of it. Enjoy looking at the little clothes and blankets. Enjoy talking about names with Merle and…and imagining if it'll be a boy or a girl. It doesn't matter how big your baby is—ever. Believe me. Your baby is your baby. Even now. Enjoy it if you want to."

Andrea smiled to herself.

"Jellybean," Andrea said. "That's Merle's pet name for the baby right now. He's…I would have never thought he'd be so…I don't even have the word for it. But he makes me sure that if I'd waited my whole life and even if I were back in the world before all of this? I would have never found anyone I was more certain that I wanted to have a baby with."

Carol swallowed against a tightness in her throat. It came from talking about Sophia, and from thinking about how much she missed Sophia, but it only increased when she saw how genuinely happy Andrea was. Merle had breathed new life into Andrea and, perhaps, she had done the same for him. They credited his change to having a purpose and being without drugs, but maybe he'd simply found something better to which he could become addicted.

"Even if something happens to the baby," Carol said, "that doesn't mean that it wasn't your baby and it doesn't matter. It also doesn't mean that you'll never have a baby."

"Second chances," Andrea said, her voice not giving away entirely if she meant it as a statement or a question.

"Second chances," Carol confirmed.

"Can I ask you something personal?" Andrea asked. "And if you don't want to answer…"

"Go ahead," Carol said.

"Merle said that Daryl didn't know that you were pregnant until recently," Andrea said.

"I hid it," Carol said. "I didn't want anyone to worry. I didn't want Daryl to worry, and I knew that he would."

As soon as she said it, Carol realized it was really the truth. She hadn't wanted Daryl to worry, and he would have worried. That was the kind of man that he was. He would have wanted to take care of her, especially after Sophia's death, and that would have just caused him stress out on the road.

"But he never just…noticed?" Andrea asked.

Carol knew immediately what Andrea was asking.

"You remember what it was like," Carol said. "There was never any privacy. To be honest, it wasn't like he had very much opportunity to notice."

Andrea looked very satisfied with the answer. At least the answer told her that Carol and Daryl weren't really intimate very often because of their circumstances—as she imagined those circumstances to be—and excused Daryl from being entirely oblivious to Carol.

"After Ed, I'm so glad you found Daryl," Andrea said.

"Me too," Carol said.

She was being honest. She was being entirely and completely honest. She was so happy to have found Daryl. She was happy to have him in her world, even if he wasn't really her husband. He renewed some hope in men that she'd started to lose entirely.

Just thinking of Daryl in any context could automatically make her chest tighten.

"I guess he's…probably at least a little like Merle," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. She was still absent-mindedly running her fingers over the bars of the crib that she coveted for her future nursery. "Merle says Daryl is the sweet one. Maybe he doesn't show it very often, but Merle has such a sweet side that…I'm having a hard time imagining that anyone could be sweeter. Daryl must really be something."

Carol swallowed.

She thought about Daryl. She thought about every interaction they'd had since she'd met him. She thought about snatched conversations around the rock quarry when her husband wasn't around or Daryl was bringing something that he wanted her to cook. Usually he would only ever say one thing, either for risk of being overheard and making life harder for her or because he didn't know what to say.

"You alright?"

Carol had been trained to always answer in the affirmative. If anyone wanted to know how she was, she had to tell them she was fine. Any other response might have resulted in some sort of punishment for Ed, and that would have just come back on Carol when Ed next got his hands on her. Still, it was always nice to simply hear Daryl ask it. He asked it with genuine concern. Just the question—even though she knew that there was nothing that she could trust him to do about Ed that wouldn't just cause more trouble—made her feel a little less alone in the world. She remembered the way he looked at her the day she put a pickaxe through Ed's brain. She remembered the way that he remained optimistic and confident about finding Sophia just so she could benefit from his security. She remembered when he risked his life to bring her a sign that her daughter was still alive, and how he brought her flowers, told her stories, and showed her flowers growing wild just to encourage her. She remembered how he was there when she was sure that everyone else was gone and their hope of a future was going up in flames.

She remembered how he'd reacted when he discovered she was pregnant. She could still see the concern in his eyes as he offered her the skinned raccoon, and she remembered the true rage that had burned there when he'd drawn a knife on Rick to stop him from reaching for the food.

"Daryl is—everything," Carol said. She laughed to herself. She felt her face burn warm at the admission of her feelings. Andrea would hear them only as a declaration of the love that a woman had for her husband. Carol felt the warm tears that slipped out of her eyes. Tears, today, seemed closer to the surface than they had in a very long time. Nearly anything seemed capable of drawing them out of Carol and she felt helpless to try and stop them. She could only hope that the pleased expression on Andrea's face meant that she wouldn't judge her for her incapacity to hold back the tears which seemed to have gained a mind of their own. "He's sweet and…and…"

"Romantic?" Andrea offered.

Carol couldn't admit that Daryl, perhaps, had never been really romantic toward her because of the true nature of their relationship. He had done things, however, that she would have considered romantic if only he'd meant them that way. She might even have considered nearly everything he'd done to be romantic if he'd wanted her to see him in such a light.

Her mind, immediately, reminded her of the taste of the French toast. She almost ached for the craving that suddenly surged up inside her. She would have sat and let him feed her food until she'd burst or he'd been satisfied at what she ate—whichever might come first—simply to have him continue to treat her with such kindness.

"He can be very romantic," Carol confirmed. "Kind. Gentle."

"Merle can be those things," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. "But—he can be quite a few other things, too. There's still a lot of—something—assholeness? Passion, maybe? Even anger, but I don't mind it when it comes out at the right moments and in the right places."

Carol's stomach twisted. She understood Andrea's meaning by the smirk that crossed her lips. She understood by the wagging of her eyebrows.

"Daryl has a lot of that," Carol said. "At least—when he needs it."

"At least I can say that I don't miss my vibrator with a Dixon in my bed," Andrea said with a laugh. "You know?"

Carol felt like she couldn't lie entirely.

"There was never much privacy," she offered.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"Well, there's plenty of privacy now," Andrea said.

Carol only wished that the privacy really mattered. The only thing she needed privacy for now was the quiet time spent resting without fear of an angry husband interrupting her or a Walker trying to eat her face. Daryl spent that private time with her, but not in the way that Andrea imagined.

Not in the way that Carol wished.

"I think we could move that crib for you," Carol offered, drawing Andrea's attention back to something besides her fictional relationship with Daryl. "Nobody would have to know. It could be our little secret until you're farther along and feel like you can share it."

"I think it's heavy. I think we'd definitely get noticed trying to carry it across the community. And that would get us both in trouble," Andrea said. "Still, I might ask someone to move it. I really do want this one. It couldn't hurt to have something to look at in the empty room, even if…nothing ever comes from it."

The sadness in the end of Andrea's comment struck Carol. It was a reminder that, for all the happiness she was showing the world, Andrea had lost everyone before. She'd known as much loss as she possibly could. And she still feared loss.

And Carol understood, in ways she probably shouldn't, what Andrea was saying. It was nice to have something you enjoyed to admire, even if it never really served you the way that you wanted.

Still, Andrea had a great deal more hope for her situation than Carol did when it came to having dreams come to fruition.

Carol walked over and put her hand on Andrea's shoulder. The woman covered Carol's hand with her own.

"You'll need it," Carol assured Andrea.

Andrea turned and looked at her. Almost like magic, the sadness was gone as though it had never been there. A smile took its place and Carol realized that Andrea—though she'd never known it before—was something of an actress. Maybe that was her secret. The sadness and the worry weren't entirely gone; she was just good at keeping it hidden.

"You'll need one sooner," Andrea said. "Come on—let's find you one that you like, and then we can pick out all the other things you'll need to go with it."


	28. Chapter 28

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl's heart was pounding loudly enough that he was sure Carol could hear it if she listened for it. He could feel it drumming around in his chest and he was sweating a little. He was grateful that she hadn't said anything about the kiss, but he was also concerned because he felt, one way or another, that it had to be addressed—he wasn't sure he'd survive if they simply continued to ignore it.

When he'd gotten to the house from working, though, Carol hadn't been there. He'd showered off the grime he'd collected that day, and then he'd emerged and dressed to find Carol beaming over the fact that she'd found some really good scissors, apparently, with which to cut his hair.

He'd dragged one of the kitchen chairs out to the porch and sat, waiting for her to make him look presentable. When she'd asked him what he wanted in the way of a haircut, he'd told her to simply cut his hair. He'd told her she could cut it all off for all he cared. He'd told her she could do whatever she wanted. It was only hair to him—something that grew involuntarily out of his head—and she'd know best what she ought to do with it.

Now she was walking circles around him, combing his hair this way and that, occasionally re-dampening it with a squirt bottle that she must have found wherever she found the scissors and the plastic comb she was using.

And Daryl's heart was beating wildly in his chest because she was so close to him that he could smell the scent of sweat from where she'd been traipsing back and forth around the community most of the day.

"I found a crib," Carol said. "And a dresser for the nursery to keep the baby's clothes in. And a changing table. I tried to talk Andrea into helping me move it, but she said we should wait until someone else could move it."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "Ought not to be movin' no furniture."

"I hate having to ask for help for everything we want to do," Carol said.

"I'll get the truck after supper," Daryl said. "Get T. We can load it up an' get it back here without a problem."

"It doesn't have to be tonight," Carol offered. "Hold your head straight. Like that."

She put her hands on either side of Daryl's face and tipped his head so that it was straight. He prayed that nothing in his body took such a simple touch as an invitation to try to demonstrate how ready and willing he was to do his best to serve her and meet her every whim.

He focused on keeping his head in the position she requested while she carefully worked at trimming away probably a year's worth of growth.

"You want it," Daryl said. "Today or tomorrow, it don't matter. Might as well go ahead and get it after supper. It ain't nothin' but a thing. Besides—T's been tryin' to show off for that woman. Maybe he could make a couple announcements during supper that he's gonna help you get some stuff you need. Make hisself sound like some kinda knight in shining armor."

Carol laughed.

"Do you really think Michonne is going to be impressed that he can move furniture?"

"You on a first name basis with her now?" Daryl asked.

"Not really," Carol said. "But Andrea talks about her. She knows her well. I imagine that she'll warm up to the rest of us soon enough. Apparently, she just takes her time."

"Be sure you tell T that," Daryl said. "He was helpin' earlier with some work on the fences and the whole time he was bellyachin' that all she does is stare at him when he tries to talk to her."

Carol laughed.

"I'll tell Andrea," Carol said. "Maybe she knows how to talk to her. Maybe she can put in a good word for T. And who knows? Maybe you're right. Maybe moving the furniture for the nursery will help Michonne see T in a whole new light."

"I'll tell him when we see him," Daryl said. "He's gotta come back some time before supper."

"There's a crib that Andrea wants, too. For their baby. Do you think…you could talk to Merle? Help move it so that she could have it?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I mean—I don't see no reason we couldn't move it."

"I told her you'd be happy to help," Carol said. She sounded quite pleased by the prospect of them helping Andrea. "Some of the doctors have told her to wait, you know? But—why should she wait? The idea of setting up her nursery makes her happy and being happy has to be good for her. Good for the baby."

"It ain't no problem," Daryl assured her. We can move both the cribs. All the furniture. It ain't nothin' but a thing."

"I think Merle hates to admit that—he needs help with some things," Carol said.

"He ain't never been no good at admitting that he couldn't do everything," Daryl agreed.

"Even less, now, with one hand," Carol said.

"He's gonna want to admit it even less now, too, with a wife and a kid on the way," Daryl said.

"Maybe we try to help but—make sure we don't embarrass him?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Nah," Daryl said. "We won't embarrass him. I won't. Not about this. Not when it comes to his wife and kid. Merle'll give me hell—always has—but he's always known where the line is. At least when he's sober."

"He hasn't given you too much of a hard time since we got here," Carol offered. "About the whole—marriage thing. The whole baby thing."

Daryl's heart had calmed down as they'd gone on talking about mundane things in a mundane way. It had slowed its beating and settled into the comfortable exchange of words and thoughts. Now, though, it jump-started itself again and returned to thumping around wildly.

"He ain't been too bad," Daryl said. "Except—he's real curious about the whole thing."

"Andrea is too," Carol said. "I guess—who could blame them? I mean—I was pretty curious about them and…it's even more dramatic if they're imagining that, you know, you're the father of my baby."

"Andrea's pregnant," Daryl said.

"Barely," Carol said. "It's a little different. I guess it's only natural that they're curious. There…I think I'm done. I got most of the hair off your shirt, but it's still sticking to your face and neck. I'll never get it all off and it'll irritate you. You're going to have to go rinse off again."

Daryl actually welcomed the escape. He left the chair like a bullet. He practically bolted into the house and went straight to the bedroom. He shucked himself out of his freshly put on clothes and almost fell into the shower from trying to step over the side of the tub so quickly.

In the shower, standing under the stream of water that would wash stray hair off of him, he tried to catch his breath. He tried to collect himself. He tried to imagine how he might get Carol talking about the kiss and what he might say that would keep her from running away from the house and away from the marriage that had never really existed in the first place.

He must have been in there for more than the minute that he intended to spend there, because he heard Carol calling out to him, her voice muffled by water and the distance that she didn't dare to cross while he was naked.

"Are you OK?"

"Fine," Daryl said.

"Is it OK?" Carol asked. "I didn't—cut it too short, did I? You don't hate it, do you?"

"I like it," Daryl shot back. "It's good…great. There ain't nothin' wrong."

If he were being honest, he hadn't even looked at his hair. He hadn't even sort of glanced at it. She could have practically shaved his head for all he knew. He ran his hand through it. His hair was there, but it was short. He didn't care. At least it wouldn't get in his eyes. He got out and dried off with the wet towel that he'd used just a short time before. He hung it back up and stuck just his head out the bathroom door. He was alone in the bedroom. Carol had come to check on him, but she'd left him with his privacy. He dressed again in his clothes and they clung to him from the dampness. In the bathroom, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

His hair was fine. The most important thing about it was that he had told Carol to pick what she thought was best, and this what she thought was best. That made it perfect for the time being.

Daryl came out of the bedroom to find Carol in the living room of their house. She was sitting on the couch. She was reading a book.

From the pressure in his chest, he might have believed he was having a heart attack.

She looked at him and smiled.

"Is it OK?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

He nodded his head.

"Great," he said. "Like it."

"It's short," Carol said. "It hasn't been that short since—I think since I met you."

"Like it," Daryl said. "Easy to take care of. Don't gotta worry with it. Listen—gotta talk to you. About…"

Daryl abandoned the conversation. He couldn't do this without something in his hand. He was going to bite a hole through the side of his thumb. It was already bleeding a little where he'd gnawed out some of his insecurity and frustration on it earlier. He went for the pack of cigarettes he'd tossed on a little table and he took the pack with him. He walked over, opened the front door, and stood in the doorframe as he lit a cigarette and tucked the pack in his pocket.

"Are you OK?" Carol asked. She abandoned her book. She got to her feet and came to stand near him with her brow furrowed.

"Don't want the smoke to hurt the baby," he said.

She laughed to herself.

"You smoked plenty around me when you didn't know there was a baby," Carol said. "And Ed smoked all the time when I was pregnant with Sophia. I think it'll be fine. Is that—what you wanted to talk to me about, Daryl?"

"I wanted to talk to you about—my brother," Daryl said. "Not just about my brother, though. About—that kiss. About him demandin' we kiss. He ain't had no right to make such demands like that…"

"I think he was just curious," Carol said. "I think—if he's thinking we're married, maybe he was just worried that you weren't happy in the marriage if we never kissed."

"Worried that I weren't makin' you happy, too," Daryl said. "But I know it—prob'ly put you in an awkward position."

"I didn't mind," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach twisted. It flipped and contracted.

Was she just giving him permission not to feel bad about things? Was she simply saying that it was all done in good show? Or was she meaning that she didn't mind like he hadn't minded?

"I don't want you to have to do nothin' that you don't wanna do," Daryl said. "I don't want you feelin' like you're backed into some kinda corner."

Carol smiled at him.

"I don't want you feeling that way, either," Carol said. "I mean—I do think that the idea of a marriage gives us a sort of protection for a little while…it lets us settle in. And maybe it gives T some kind of advantage with Michonne, I don't know. But, Daryl—I don't want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Not for the sake of…anything…but certainly not for any of that."

Daryl felt oddly calmed by her tone of voice. He felt calmed by her expression. Maybe it was simply her presence that calmed him. His heart still thundered in his chest, but his whole body didn't feel like he wanted to unzip it, crawl out of it, and leave it behind.

"I wasn't uncomfortable," Daryl said. "And—I—I wasn't bothered by it."

"I wasn't bothered by it either," Carol said. She smiled at him. It barely ghosted over her lips. She raised her eyebrow at him and something in his body swore that it saw something more—something that he was sure wasn't there. Something in him threatened to raise up in order to mirror the movement of her eyebrow and he cursed his own reactions under his breath.

There was absolutely no sense in a grown ass man getting turned on by an eyebrow and he fully intended to have a long and strongly-worded conversation with his dick about the many things it had decided to let him know—especially in the past few weeks when he'd spent so much time in constant, close, contact with Carol—it found arousing.

"If we supposed to be married," Daryl ventured, "then I guess—they gonna expect us to kiss sometimes."

"I would think so," Carol said. "I mean—if we're happily married. And I would think—I would like to think that we'd be happily married."

Daryl felt like his heart nearly knocked him forward with a hard jolt. Did she mean what he thought she meant, or was his dick just trying to tell the rest of him how to interpret things?

"Yeah—I mean—we'd probably be…" he stammered out.

"I mean we'd want to pretend we were happily married," Carol said. "I wouldn't want to pretend that we were unhappy unless…you want to…"

"No," Daryl said. "Shit—no. Let's just be happy. And kissin' I mean…it ain't no big thing." He laughed nervously to himself. "Didn't go too bad today."

"I thought it was a nice kiss," Carol said. "Probably—the nicest I've ever had."

Daryl's face ran hot and he felt a little lightheaded. It was all the damn years he spent smoking—a habit he surely wasn't going to give up right now—and the fact that a part of his body that, thank goodness, Carol wasn't paying attention to, had robbed him of some of the blood that he could have used to function.

"I thought it was good," Daryl said. "Thought we oughta make it good, if we was gonna do it. Even if it was the first time and we ain't had no warning and all…I mean we might oughta…we might…"

"We should probably do it again," Carol said. "Maybe—a few times? So we're comfortable with it, I mean. If you're comfortable with it, of course. Just so—it looks natural?"

Daryl clung to the doorframe. He was pretty sure, at that precise moment, that there was a God and that God had decided to throw him some sort of bone as long as he wasn't dumb enough to ruin things.

"Absolutely," he said with more conviction than he'd been able to muster up about many things. "Gotta practice. So—so others will believe it, I mean. Because Merle's going to expect it. He's gonna be watching."

"Andrea's going to expect it," Carol said.

"I imagine that doctor of yours…she might expect it," Daryl said.

"Did you want to?" Carol asked.

Daryl's heart came to a screeching halt and he choked on the smoke that he'd just sucked into his lungs. He coughed it out and Carol worried over him.

"Just got—strangled…" he said. He flicked the offending butt of the cigarette out the door. It landed on the brick steps where it would burn itself the rest of the way out before he got rid of it later. "Did I wanna…what now?"

"Practice," Carol said. "Kissing. Before we go to eat and everybody's there and…oh God…I shouldn't have said anything, right? We don't really need to practice…"

Daryl didn't know how to tell her that practicing sounded like the best thing that he could think of. He couldn't find the words and he knew that he'd never find them. Instead, he stepped forward and caught her much the same way he had at breakfast. He let his hand find the back of her head and he pulled her toward him. She came, closing the distance between him, and he kissed her like he had before. He kissed her in a way that he would want to remember later. He tasted her lips. He felt them between his teeth as he gently nipped her bottom lip. He slid his tongue against her bottom lip when she parted her lips to him and felt the gentle scratch of her bottom teeth. He dropped his hand and kneaded the back of her neck and she moaned at him.

Her moans were soft and satisfied. They were sweet little sounds and the desire to do everything he'd imagined doing earlier jolted through Daryl's body like lightning striking a tree.

He backed off of Carol quickly, afraid that if he lingered even a second longer, he'd pull away from the kiss just to run his tongue up the length of her throat to taste her skin and feel the ridges of her windpipe beneath his flattened tongue.

She stared at him, mouth still slightly open and pink from the work that his teeth had done to her lips.

"So that's just how you kiss," she breathed out.

"Shit," Daryl spat. "I'm sorry."

He felt his throat tighten. He felt the something prickling behind his eyes that he struggled to hold back. He'd gone too far, and she didn't like it. She didn't like him—not the way he was. And she didn't know the half of how he was.

Nobody in their right mind would like to know that someone wanted to explore them with their mouth. It was too much.

Even the kiss was too much.

And there was no escape unless he simply darted out the door.

But she surprised him.

"Don't apologize," she said, breathlessly. She laughed to herself. "Don't apologize. It's—I mean—I certainly don't have any complaints. I just wasn't expecting that to just be—to just be the way you kiss."

"You hate it?" Daryl asked.

"I like it," Carol said. "I guess I just expected something softer."

Daryl wasn't about to tell her that his experience with kissing was terribly limited. He didn't know he had a "way" of kissing. He only knew that he kissed her the way that he wanted to kiss her. He kissed her the way that his body told him was simply right.

"Don't know how to kiss soft," Daryl said.

"I'll show you," Carol said. "Just in case—we want some variety, I mean. Since…since we might have to…you know…perform a lot."

Daryl barely nodded his head at her before she put her hand on his head in the same way that he'd done to her. When she kissed him, this time, she pulled away slightly if he came toward her too hard or too fast. She forced him to be gentle. She forced him to go slow. She kept her lips soft and let them touch his, repeatedly, almost like she was dabbing him with sweet kisses. When he started to mimic her, finding the kisses pleasurable, she let out some of the soft moans again and Daryl pushed her off, backing up and bumping into the doorframe of the still-open door.

She was too close, and soon she'd know more secrets about him if they didn't put some distance between them.

"Did you hate it?" Carol asked.

Daryl lit himself another cigarette from the pack in his pocket.

"I liked it," Daryl said.

"So we have…variety," Carol said. "For—you know…whenever they want us to perform, right?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Better get ready for supper," he said. Carol nodded and started to walk away. He wasn't sure, but he thought maybe there was something like disappointment that flickered on her features. He called her back before she could reach the bedroom door. She stopped and turned back to look at him. He cleared his throat. "Might not have the hang of it," he offered. "But I'll try."

"We could keep practicing," Carol said. "If you think that would help you feel more comfortable."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "If you—don't mind."

"You just say when," Carol assured him, slipping into the bedroom and closing the door behind her while she did whatever it was that she needed to do to freshen up for the meal they would soon enjoy.


	29. Chapter 29

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl's kisses were desperate. They were hungry. They were more than that, even.

For as much as Carol found herself imagining that, before all of this had come to pass, Daryl might have been shaking women off, left and right, to keep his bachelor status, she was starting to believe that she'd read him wrong entirely.

It was clear that the hungry way in which he kissed was the way he always kissed. He even admitted it. He didn't know how to kiss tenderly. He only knew how to kiss like he was dying of thirst and the only water to be found needed to be sucked from Carol's lips. It was, apparently, the way he'd always kissed and the only way that he knew how to kiss. Carol wasn't complaining—because his kisses were the best kisses that she'd ever had, and they made her brain feel like it shut off completely for just a few moments—but she did recognize, almost immediately, that there was some insecurity surrounding whether or not he was doing it right. The possible explanations for this, of course, were that he'd never kissed very much, and maybe kissing simply wasn't something he liked to do very often, or that he'd never kissed women that had given him much feedback on the kisses. If the women he'd been kissing weren't giving him much feedback, though, Carol assumed it was because they were focusing on not staggering around on their newly-jellied knees.

He wanted feedback, though. He wanted to hear that he kissed well—Carol saw the way his features lit up with even the smallest bit of praise. He wanted words about what he could do better or differently. He wanted something to work toward.

And it had been a dry season for him since the world had turned upside down.

Daryl probably didn't enjoy the kisses the way that Carol did. Carol couldn't deny her attraction to Daryl. She wouldn't deny it to herself and, honestly, she wouldn't deny it to anyone else who asked her about it. She couldn't deny the fact that she was beginning to consider him the greatest example of manhood that she'd ever seen. He was everything that she personally wanted a man to be. He was everything that Ed had lied to her about being. Whereas Ed had lied to her about himself, and had bragged about being something he absolutely wasn't, Daryl didn't brag about anything. If he even spoke about himself, it was matter-of-factly.

Carol had never felt as attracted to a man as she felt to Daryl, and this was especially true now that she'd tasted his kisses and her body had reminded her, with her own somewhat desperate feelings, that she was a woman. Even though Ed had made her want to forget that many times, she was a woman, and she had needs.

Daryl reminded her of her needs—needs that she'd mostly ignored during the past years when Ed had practically murdered her desire. Daryl, however, made her ache with the desire that he would meet her needs and that, in exchange, he would allow her to meet his. She had always liked caring for others, in every sense of the word, and only Ed had ever made her bitter for any expectation of care. She would enjoy meeting Daryl's needs if he would let her. She would do so gladly. He was a man, after all, who seemed genuinely appreciative of every kindness that was shown to him.

The only thing that kept Carol's feet on the ground at all was the memory that they were doing this for a show. It was a performance. They would do this while they settled into the community. They would do this while they found their places among the residents there. They would do this for companionship, and for however long it served them.

The shared kisses were simply an added benefit to the ruse.

And then, one day, Daryl would likely find a woman among the residents of the community that interested him. He would be ready to take what he'd learned from the kisses, even, and use those to woo someone he chose for himself. Carol reminded herself of that whenever something inside of her threatened to bubble over. She reminded herself not to get too far ahead of herself.

That evening, when they went to dinner, they shared a table with Merle and Andrea, and they left an open chair in expectation of T-Dog's arrival at some point during the meal.

In the presence of Merle and Andrea, Carol's suspicions that, perhaps, Daryl didn't know what to do in relationships were strengthened a little. She assumed that he may have been the kind of man who had remained unattached and uncommitted. He could show kindness and temporary devotion without diving into an actual relationship. Such a way of being, of course, would serve him well as he pretended to be Carol's husband for the following days or weeks, but it wouldn't do her well. She feared that she wasn't going to be as good at keeping her feelings distant.

Daryl's possible lack of a committed relationship in the past could also explain Merle's seeming fascination with their false marriage. He watched them very carefully. Carol met his eyes nearly any time she looked in his direction, and most of the time that he spent not looking at her was spent watching Daryl.

Daryl was watching his brother just as carefully as Merle was watching him, but it was for a different reason. Almost immediately, Carol realized that Daryl was drawing information from Merle on what was expected of them as a couple. Andrea held Merle's hand while they waited on their food. Daryl offered his hand over to Carol in a not-so-very-discrete manner. She was happy for the opportunity to simply sit calmly, though, and hold Daryl's hand in hers, so she wasn't complaining.

Merle laughed at something Andrea said and kissed the side of her face, so the next time that a window opened where such a thing might be not entirely inappropriate, Daryl had kissed Carol's cheek.

He was mimicking his brother in an effort to learn what was expected of them and to perform his role well.

The concern that Daryl showed throughout the meal, though, over whether or not Carol felt that she'd gotten enough or needed more, was all his own. And it warmed her chest and her belly in a way that she was starting to associate only with Daryl and his particular brand of attention and affection.

T-Dog joined them just as dessert was arriving to their table, claiming he'd had his meal earlier. Carol didn't hold back her smile when the dessert plate was placed in the middle of the table and they were given small plates for each person seated at the table.

"Chocolate icing?" Carol asked as Daryl passed around the dessert plates.

"And chocolate cake," Daryl said.

She raised her eyebrows at him, her cheeks aching.

"You did this?" She asked.

Daryl's face blushed pink and he shrugged his shoulders.

"You said they was Sophia's favorite," Daryl said. "I just asked 'em if they could do it. I didn't know if they could or not."

Carol swallowed against the lump in her throat.

"That's the…sweetest thing…" she stammered, but she wasn't able to finish. She had to stop speaking because, in addition to the few tears that somehow found their way down her face, she was afraid that her voice might crack and release a cry that was similar to the one from the doctor's office earlier. She didn't want to do that—not at the dinner table—so she simply stopped speaking.

Merle cleared his throat. Carol heard the sound, and his throat-clearing seemed to draw the attention of multiple people at the table. Daryl kissed the side of her face again—this time in such an unexpected way that she closed her eyes. She felt the simple kiss in her chest. She felt the warmth of it spreading downward through her belly and even beyond. It dissolved the lump in her throat and, without meaning to, she hummed out her pleasure over the simple gesture as Daryl's hand closed around hers.

Andrea drew them back to the table, and back to dessert, by selecting one of the cupcakes off the plate.

"To Sophia," Andrea offered.

"To Sophia," Merle echoed, his voice quieter.

Carol echoed the sentiment, this time not feeling as much like she was choking, and selected her own cupcake as Daryl and T-Dog helped themselves. Carol watched, across the table, as Andrea, without requiring any request from Merle and without drawing attention to her actions, carefully peeled the wrapper from Merle's cupcake to leave it ready for him to easily eat as he wanted.

Carol tasted her own cupcake. It wasn't as good as she'd made before, and she considered asking how she might obtain ingredients or permission to cook in the kitchen from time to time, but it was good enough for now.

The taste of it did, in fact, remind her of some of the happy times that she'd spent with Sophia, enjoying treats that she prepared with love for her daughter. And, though the memories tugged at her chest, they did so in a good way. She dared, for even a second, to allow herself to imagine having happy moments with another child.

"I gotta eat at your table more often," T-Dog said. "I was in here earlier and all we got for dessert were some sweet rolls."

"If you look around, these was made by special request," Merle said. "It's likely that not everybody got these."

"I thought you didn't show favoritism?" T-Dog asked.

Merle laughed to himself.

"I think we consider favoritism to be some kinda long term favorin' of somebody 'cause of who they are or whatever. It don't mean that we don't never allow nobody to feel just a little bit special or to have somethin' good that's theirs."

"It's good to honor some special requests an' all," Daryl said.

"Speaking of special requests and…wants or needs or whatever," Carol said. "T—do you think you're up to moving a couple of cribs with Daryl after dinner?"

T-Dog laughed to himself.

"I knew this cupcake was gonna cost me something," he teased.

"There's a cup of coffee in it for you tonight," Daryl said. "Back at the house. Hot shower."

"I'll move the crib," T-Dog said. "Mostly I'm just giving you a hard time."

"Cribs," Carol said. "Andrea's found one that she'd like, too."

"You got a crib picked out?" Merle asked.

"It's too early," Andrea protested. "We shouldn't get it now…it's…that's a long time to just have it sitting there."

"Is it gonna spoil, Sugar?" Merle asked.

Carol swallowed down her laughter. Carol knew that the question wasn't sincere, but the way that Merle asked it made it hard to tell from his tone of voice.

"It's not too early," Carol said. "Andrea will relax much better once she starts feeling that her nursery is in order. Every mother likes to have a nest. And that means she can start building it a little along."

"Then we'll get the crib," Merle said. He might as well have dropped a gavel at the end of the comment for how much declaration of fact was in the statement. It wasn't up for debate.

"How does your friend feel about babies?" Carol asked, speaking directly to Andrea. Andrea raised her eyebrow at her in question and Carol flicked her eyes in T-Dog's direction before returning them to Andrea. "Would she be, in any way, interested in knowing that T-Dog was really dedicated to helping us set up nurseries?"

"Oh!" Andrea said quickly. "You mean Michonne?" Carol nodded. At the mention of the woman's name, T-Dog's interest perked up and he leaned forward into the table. There were dozens of available women there, and T-Dog could have likely picked from them at his leisure, but he seemed to be the kind that was interested in what he couldn't easily have. Andrea shrugged her shoulders. "You know, I honestly don't know. I don't think she's ever mentioned it. She's never really talked about kids or how she felt about them. I mean she congratulated me when I told her I was pregnant, but…it was just congratulations and nothing more."

"Michonne don't really talk much about life," Merle offered. "She talks about ways to improve things. She talks about—the lil' bunches of people that crop up around here and what we gonna do about 'em. She talks about runs, an' problems we got with neighboring communities, an' if she seen anything on watch. She don't sit and chat about what the hell her life was before we met up in Georgia."

"But—I'm sure she'd still appreciate knowing anything about a man who's willing to offer a helping hand to others," Andrea said.

"And it sounds like if you was to get assigned to the right work detail," Daryl said, "then you might have some time to discuss your thoughts on things around here."

Carol laughed to herself when T-Dog leaned around her to look at Daryl.

"So far all I've been asked to do is odd jobs here and there," T-Dog said.

"Yeah—but you might have some pull with someone who could maybe find out what jobs she gets assigned to," Daryl said. He flicked his eyes in the direction of his brother to make sure that T-Dog followed what he was saying. "We keep your secret that you set it up that way. Kinda looks like you just ended up there. Fate."

T-Dog looked at Merle and Merle laughed to himself.

"You owe me," T-Dog said. "After what an asshole you were?"

"I fuckin' owe you?" Merle responded. There was no real malice in his voice, though, nor on his features. He spoke to T-Dog around a bite of his cupcake. "You the one that threw the damned key down the pipe to cost me my hand."

"I dropped it," T-Dog said. "It was an accident. I chained the door to keep the Walkers away from you."

"And you kicked the damn bag of tools over," Merle said. "Whether you meant that or not. It was the only damn way I'da ever got a saw. Cost me my hand, but kept me my life."

"So, you owe me," T-Dog said. "Because look at the life you've got now. Maybe you'd have never had that life if you'd kept your hand and hadn't had to start over. I did your ass a favor, whether you want to admit it or not."

"Move the crib," Merle said after he'd worked his way, slowly and just to torture T-Dog a bit, through another bite of his cupcake. "And then I'll see what I can do about movin' duty posts."


	30. Chapter 30

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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They spent the evening moving furniture and other odds and ends from the over-crowded storage house to the rooms that Carol and Andrea had designated for nurseries. For the time being, Andrea had only taken the crib she'd picked out, but Carol needed more things. She needed to furnish the room. She took a dresser, a rocker, and a changing table. She took, as well, a selection of items that came from those that they'd brought from the motel—most of which they'd donated to be shared with anyone who might need them—and some which had been found by those in the community who led expeditions to clean out surrounding areas.

Daryl and T-Dog, as well, had snagged a few odds and ends that they simply wished to acquire as creature comforts while they'd been busy moving things.

Back at the house, after everything had been moved into place, Carol, Daryl, and T-Dog had drank coffee on the porch and spent a few moments merely settling down for the evening. Soon, Carol had excused herself to do a few things and T-Dog had excused himself to the upstairs, and Daryl had remained outside long enough to finish one cigarette in complete silence and to drink the last few swallows of his thoroughly cooled coffee.

Inside, he'd expected to find Carol in the shower or the bed, but she'd been neither place. He'd made his way to the nursery and found her there. He stood in the doorway and watched her as she worked at whatever she was doing by the light of a lamp that she'd found for the space.

"I'm glad to see you doin' this," Daryl said, breaking the silence of the room.

Carol jumped dramatically and dropped a stack of what appeared to be blankets. She muttered a quiet curse, and Daryl wasn't sure if it was over being scared or over dropping the blankets. She moved to pick them up, but Daryl saw that bending for them wasn't the easiest thing she'd been asked to do all day, so he stepped forward quickly and gathered up the blankets to hand them to her.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Daryl said. "Honestly, I thought you knew I was there."

"I guess I was just—daydreaming," Carol said.

"I was just—sayin' I was glad to see you doin' this," Daryl said.

"Putting things away so they aren't in cardboard boxes?" Carol asked.

"Doing anything in here," Daryl said. Carol hummed and went back to her work. Daryl walked over to the rocking chair and sat down in it. He rocked himself with his feet while he watched Carol.

"Things need to be put away," Carol said. "Besides—if we leave all this cardboard around, we'll end up with roaches."

Daryl hummed at her mostly to make it clear that he was listening and not ignoring her.

"Is it just the roaches you worried about?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked.

"The roaches," Daryl said. "Is that the only reason you puttin' that stuff away?"

"It needs to be put away," Carol said.

"Forgive me for sayin' it," Daryl said, "but I'm gonna say it 'cause—well, maybe 'cause I'm just the kinda asshole that sometimes says what the hell people think I shouldn't. But—I couldn't help but notice that you seemed more excited about Andrea gettin' that crib than you seemed about anything you got. You was damn near giddy with her gettin' the crib, but you just kinda pointed out the shit we got for you like—whatever. That oughta do it."

Carol had moved on from the blankets, and now she was folding tiny clothes that had come to them tossed in a box. She paused from folding the tiny things and seemed to carefully consider the piece of cloth in front of her.

"There's just something so magical about a first baby," Carol said after a long moment.

"Somethin' that ain't magical about a second?" Daryl asked. Carol looked at him and he held his hands up in mock surrender. He could practically feel something radiating off of her. It was an emotion that was strong enough to turn his stomach slightly, but he wasn't entirely sure what he might call the emotion.

"I'm not tryin' to be an asshole," Daryl said. "I'm genuinely asking a question. It's not exactly like I got a whole lot of experience with the whole—havin' babies thing."

Carol was rubbing her fingers quite methodically over the soft fabric of the garment. She twisted it through her fingers like she wanted the fabric to touch every inch of them. Daryl watched it for a second. He recognized the need to give one's fingers something to do.

"Do you really care?" Carol asked. "Or are you just making small talk?"

"Is what you got to say different dependin' on the answer?" Daryl asked.

Carol glanced at him and nodded before she turned her eyes away from him. He didn't take it personally that she didn't want to hold eye contact with him. Whatever she was going through, inside, was clearly something she was struggling with.

"I care," Daryl said. "For the record—I don't just engage in small talk too much. I'd rather we didn't say nothin' at all then try to fill up hours with shit that nobody cares about. So, I care. I wanna know what the difference is. And I wanna know—whatever the hell else it is that you think you'd like to tell me. As much as you got to say. I got nowhere to be, and neither do you. You can even have the chair if you wanna, ya know, sit down."

Carol shook her head. Daryl assumed it was her refusal of the rocking chair, so he didn't move. In fact, he chose not to move at all because Carol was clearly thinking. Maybe she was deciding how much she wanted to share with him. He realized, in that moment, that he wanted her to share everything with him. He wanted to know her beyond what he already knew.

Though he had low tolerance for small talk, he had a great deal of appreciation for honest conversation. He also had patience in abundance when it was necessary. He sat in the rocking chair and waited her out.

"With the first baby you don't know anything about how it's going to be or how—you're going to feel," Carol said. "You have so much hope. You're just dreaming about this perfect little life. You're already imagining what their whole lives are going to be like and what they're going to be like. You can imagine how you want everything to go."

"You can't do that with the second?" Daryl asked.

"Maybe you can," Carol said quietly.

"But you don't?" Daryl asked.

"Every single thing with the first has the potential to be—amazing," Carol said.

"What you mean?" Daryl asked. He could imagine, honestly, what she was saying. He could also tell, though, that there was much more she wanted to say. And if she just wanted to talk about Sophia—if that was hanging heavy on her mind after the eventful day that she'd had—he'd let her talk about Sophia. Sometimes it was just good to get things off one's chest, after all, and Carol hadn't allowed herself too much opportunity to mourn her daughter.

"Everything," Carol said mournfully.

"Like what?" Daryl pressed.

"Will it be a boy or a girl," Carol said. "What will they look like, who will they look like, what will their personality be like, what will they do, what will be their first words…" she ticked off things. "And when you're pregnant—when will you start to show and will you feel beautiful, and when will they kick and what will it be like…"

"And that stuff just ain't magical no more?" Daryl asked. He noticed when Carol stiffened. "It was magical before?" He asked, deciding to change tactics to get her talking again.

"Not as much as I wanted it to be," she admitted. "You don't want to hear about this…"

"I asked," Daryl said. "I'm an asshole so—if I didn't wanna hear it? I'da walked out the damn room by now. But here I sit with my ass in this chair."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You're not an asshole," Carol said.

"You just don't know me," Daryl offered.

"Oh—I know you," Carol said. "Maybe—there's still a lot left to know, but I know enough."

Daryl swallowed. His gut churned a little and his heart picked up speed. He rolled his next string of words over and over in his mind. He wondered if he dared to say them. Then, with the same feeling as jumping feet first from the pier into cold lake water for the first time and praying that he learned to swim before his brother had to jump in after him, Daryl simply spit out the words and hoped for the best.

"I don't know a lot about you," Daryl said. "Not enough. And I wanna know more. Was it magical before—since I don't think it is to you now?"

"He took away all my magic the moment it was there," Carol said.

"Ed?" Daryl asked. Carol nodded. "What'cha mean?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Pregnancy is expensive if you do it right," Carol said. "And doctors get nosey about bruises. I spent most of my pregnancy with Sophia just—trying to keep him from remembering that I was pregnant."

Daryl's stomach tightened. She hadn't exactly spent much of this pregnancy celebrating it. She'd spent most of the time keeping everyone from noticing she was pregnant. Maybe she'd had a lot more practice than they had realized keeping that kind of secret.

"As soon as she started moving and it was real to me? I worried—night and day. I just worried that something would happen to her. I worried that I would fail her. I would fail to protect her. And I would lose her."

Daryl's stomach twisted a little more violently. It was no secret that Carol blamed herself a great deal for what had happened with Sophia. She hadn't saved her daughter—even though nobody else had been able to save her either—and she'd seen that as a personal failure.

"And then—the more I…the more I looked pregnant, the more disgusted Ed got," Carol said. "My body changed and it was horrible. He hated the way that I looked. I hated the way that I looked. I was…"

She stopped.

"You're pregnant," Daryl offered quietly. "You gonna look like you pregnant, right? I mean—if it's all goin' like it should."

He didn't point out to her the strange attraction that he felt to her pregnant form. He'd been attracted to her before, but there was a different element to it now. To admit that, though, would be to open a can of worms that she probably didn't need to deal with on top of everything else that she was clearly carrying around.

"He wanted a boy," Carol said. "A son. Ed Jr. Like every man, I guess. As soon as I found out Sophia was a girl, I knew things were going to be even worse than I imagined. I lied to him for the rest of my pregnancy. I told him they couldn't tell. She was never in the right position. He never knew because he never came to my appointments. I never bought anything for a little girl because I couldn't give away the secret."

"He found out when she was born," Daryl offered, pushing her forward.

"He found out a while after she was born," Carol said. "When he came to pick us up. I complained too much. I was too—demanding and needy." She laughed to herself, but the sound of it only wrenched Daryl's gut worse because he knew it wasn't sincere. "He slapped me even while I was getting out of the car at the hospital because…I said something he didn't like. I cried the whole way into the hospital and he told the nurse at intake that it was because I was scared to have the baby—and I was generally a crybaby about those things. And then he left because it took too long and he wasn't going to sit there and listen to that for hours."

"He weren't there when she was born?" Daryl asked.

Carol shook her head.

"Being in labor with Sophia—those hours at the hospital without Ed, when I knew she was coming and they were monitoring her and telling me she was healthy? Those were the best hours of my pregnancy," Carol said. "They let me hold her the whole time after she was born except for—maybe fifteen minutes when they had to take care of her. They just let me hold her the whole time. And I did—until he got there. That was my magic."

Daryl sat there for a moment and swallowed against the lump in his throat. He carefully chewed over what he might say or what he might do to make both Carol and himself feel better.

Finally, he got to his feet. He walked over to where she stood facing the dresser—the tiny clothes she'd stopped folding were lined up across the top of the dresser—and he rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked at him over her shoulder and offered him a tight-lipped smile that was meant to bring him some comfort.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For bein' shit on?" Daryl asked. "'Cause ain't none of us that's ever been shit on asked for it."

"For—whining about something that really doesn't matter," Carol said.

"Oh—it matters," Daryl offered.

"What's done is done," Carol said. "You can't undo the past, and you can't get back what you missed or lost."

"No. You can't. None of us can. But—you missin' the whole idea of second chances," Daryl said. "And if we ain't got that shit, what the fuck do we even have? That's what this place is—it's a whole new world. If Merle gets to come in here an' be a leader instead of an addict and an asshole…why the hell don't you get to have your magic again?"

Daryl squeezed her shoulder. His heart pounded. He wanted so much more than the simple touch, but he was happy to have it, at least. She reached her hand up and touched his fingers with her own before she turned to face him and broke the physical link between them.

"I guess I just don't feel the magic," Carol said.

"Or you afraid to," Daryl said. "You ain't even tried. You done nothin' but keep this whole thing a secret until—you woulda tried to keep it a secret 'til the kid was born."

Carol frowned at him. He could tell she didn't want to, but she wasn't in control of her emotions entirely. She was on the verge of tears. He felt the frown. He felt it in his own muscles. He licked his lips.

"They all believe you my wife," Daryl said. "And they all believe this is my kid. And even if nobody else has any expectations of me, my brother is gonna expect…well, some things. For as long as…for as long as we keep this secret, at least. And—I ain't never had a first. I maybe…probably…ain't never gonna really have no first baby—like ever. So maybe we could go through some of the motions for everybody to see, you know? But—also, maybe…if it's OK with you…we could go through some of 'em for me. Just—just for the experience."

He might've thrown up for all the discomfort he felt in his gut if it hadn't been for the slow transformation of Carol's expression toward a smile.

"You don't have to do anything," she said. "Not for me."

Daryl laughed to himself. The fluttering that took over was, at least, more pleasant than the earlier feeling.

"You don't know me as good as you think you do," Daryl said. "I can be pretty damn selfish."

"Maybe…" Carol said, hesitating and carefully thinking about her words, "I'd like to get to know you better."

"I'm sure that shit can be arranged," Daryl said. "You can—finish up what'cha doin' here. I'ma just—I ain't really goin' nowhere but, I'ma just step out. Smoke a cigarette on the porch. Don't want you to think I'm runnin' out or nothin'."

Carol laughed nervously.

"You could if you want to," she said. "After—everything I said tonight? I'd understand."

Daryl hummed at her.

"I don't want to," he said. "But—it does kinda feel like it would be one of those times when…"

"When?" Carol asked.

"Don't you think…I mean if it was like…if we were to really be married. Don't you think…this'd be one of those times when I'd probably kiss you?"

Carol's cheeks flushed pink and Daryl felt the oxygen practically leave his chest at his own audacity. She raised her eyebrows at him.

"I think so," she said. "But—there's nobody looking."

"Gotta get comfortable with it," Daryl said. "For—when they are, I mean."

"Practice," Carol breathed out.

"Practice," Daryl agreed. "Soft or…?"

"What you think is best," Carol said.

Daryl touched her chin with his finger and brought his lips to hers. He chose soft. She must have known. She delicately kissed his lips, just barely catching his lip between hers, before she pulled away and came back for another of the soft kisses. He pulled away before his instincts could drive him to kiss her harder. He pulled away before his body—tingling with interest and anticipation—could choose to react too dramatically to the kiss.

He pulled way to see the blush on her cheeks and the hint of a smile on her lips.

"I'm goin' to smoke," he said. "You just—finish up here."

"I will," she said.

"And—uh—try to…try to enjoy it," Daryl said. "As much as you can. For my sake," he added. She laughed and he laughed too.

"I will," she assured him before he slipped out the room and left her to her work.


	31. Chapter 31

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Carol came out of the bathroom as Daryl was headed into it. She'd brushed her teeth and was set on doing a few other odds and ends thing around the house before she settled into bed. Daryl closed himself into the bathroom to shower off the sweat from moving furniture and brush his teeth in preparation for going to bed. When he came out of the bathroom, Carol had settled down in bed, but she'd pushed all the cover on her side of the bed down to gather around her knees like she was hot. Daryl's eyes swept over her body, but he reminded himself that it wasn't polite to ogle women in their pajamas when they were simply relaxing in their bed with a book.

Besides, he was pretty sure that Merle would tell him that only weird ass perverts could go so far as to say that they could even manage to find a woman's knees attractive.

Daryl walked around the bed and sat down on his side of the bed. For a moment, he stiffened. Carol had seen his scars many times by now. She had never—not once and not even a little bit—made him feel uncomfortable for the marks on his body. Most of the time he forgot they were there. They were a part of him. He didn't remember life without them. But every now and again, he was acutely aware of their presence and his brain reminded him that people would find them disgusting. His brain suggested that Carol might find them disgusting, even though she was far too polite to say so.

When he pushed against his thoughts, though, and got into bed, he turned to see Carol looking at him. The expression she wore wasn't one of disgust. She looked so soft and peaceful in the lamplight that Daryl immediately relaxed into his pillow. The smile on her face, too, was barely there and finely traced the curve of her lips upward. Daryl couldn't help but smile at her in response.

"I thought you might be asleep by the time I got done," Daryl said.

"I thought so too," Carol admitted. "But—she's not interested in being asleep at all right now."

Daryl's stomach caught.

"Moving," he asked, letting his eyes drift toward Carol's belly. She hummed and rubbed her hands over the swell.

"A lot," she said. "I don't know if she can't get comfortable or…she's just not ready to sleep. You want to feel her?"

Daryl nodded his head. He offered his hand to Carol, already knowing what she would do, and she found a good place to rest his hand. Beneath his palm, he could feel the softness of the nightgown, the warmth of her skin, and the movement of something beyond even his vision. Almost instinctively, he rubbed her belly, pressing down enough to somewhat massage the spots where the movement took place.

He didn't expect the satisfied sound that Carol made. He didn't expect her to shift, just a little, as though she were trying to give him better access to her body. He didn't expect to glance at her face and see her eyes closed.

With his free hand, Daryl took a moment to make sure that his own side of the blanket was pulled up, and he shifted his body. The sweet and soft little sounds of pleasure that Carol let escape her—whether it was when they kissed or now—had an effect on him that he couldn't hide well in thin cotton boxers.

"You—uh—you need anything?" Daryl asked.

Carol opened her eyes.

"No," she said.

"Snack?" Daryl asked. "Got some stuff in the kitchen and Alice said every couple hours you oughta—you know—snack on something."

"I'm fine," Carol said. "If I had something right now, I'd probably just have indigestion and then I really would be up all night."

"Milk?" Daryl asked. "Some of that in the refrigerator, too."

"I'm fine," Carol assured him. He nodded his understanding.

Part of him was struggling, and he didn't know how to explain to Carol that he was feeling overwhelmed with the desire—a desire that bordered on need—to do something for her. He wanted to attend to her in some way. He wasn't allowed to attend to her in all the ways that he wanted, but he was searching for something that he could do that wouldn't be overstepping boundaries.

"You want—you want me to rub your feet? Or—somethin'?" Daryl asked.

"You want to rub my feet?" Carol asked.

Daryl couldn't tell, exactly, if she was shocked because she didn't expect such an offer, or if she was shocked that he would think she'd want such a thing from him. He felt the compulsion to give her an explanation.

"Alice said that—it would help you relax," Daryl said quickly. "Rubbin' things…" He stopped, immediately regretted his inability to think through things before speaking. He cleared his throat. "She said it'd be good."

"She also thinks we're married," Carol said. "You're under no obligation to rub my feet or do anything else for me, Daryl. I promise—I don't expect you to do anything."

"I wouldn't like bein' under some kinda obligation no way," Daryl offered, "but I was bein' sincere. Offering because I…don't mind. It's like…" He stopped. His mind thought that she seemed convinced, but not wholly convinced. She was missing one little nudge to get her to understand what he was saying. Practice, though, seemed to be a comforting thought to her. It seemed to be something that she liked.

And Daryl didn't have to tell her that he felt like he was practicing for what the hell he hoped could somehow, someday, become reality.

"Practice," he croaked out. The word, alone, meant very little. He couldn't take it back, though, so he held his ground when Carol's eyebrows knitted together for a moment before her features softened.

"Practice?" She asked.

She wanted something more. Some explanation. He absolutely had nothing, but Merle had once told him that if he was going to jump into something, he should hold his ground once he was in. He nodded.

"You never know," he said. He was satisfied with himself. It was absolutely undescriptive, but it wasn't untrue. And Carol smiled.

"If you want to, but I don't want you to feel like you have to," she said. She moved to uncover her feet and bare them to him. At the thought of having permission to touch her, Daryl's body perked up. He held the blanket up, bringing it with him as he moved down the bed, to do the best job he could at hiding the fact that his dick was already trying to be far more involved in the whole thing than it had a right to be. Nobody had ever explained to his dick, it seemed, that a foot massage had relatively little to do with the over-eager organ. Daryl could only hope that Carol paid it no attention. She didn't say anything about it, though, if she did. She did, however, groan over the feeling of him kneading her feet in his hands. Daryl was pretty sure that he was sweating over the effort necessary to keep himself completely in check, and his throat felt parched. "I don't think—I don't think anyone has rubbed my feet since Sophia was born."

The sinking feeling in his stomach helped a little with his other problem. Daryl kept rubbing her feet. He wanted her to say everything—absolutely everything—that she needed to say about her life before. He wanted her to get everything out that she needed to get out. That was supposed to be good for people. He knew that much.

And he was fully aware that Ed had touched her in many ways. They'd had Sophia together, after all. But that didn't mean that it didn't turn his stomach a little to imagine Ed's hands on Carol in any fashion.

"Ed rubbed your feet when Sophia was born?" Daryl asked. He hoped his voice hadn't come out as stalled as it had sounded to him.

Carol laughed and let out another satisfied hum as Daryl apparently hit a spot that really pleased her. He took just enough of a chance to let himself knead her calf muscle and the return that he got—instead of scolding—was the most satisfied sound she'd made yet. His dick—apparently slightly saddened over mention of Ed Peletier—instantly forgot its discouragement.

"Ed never rubbed my feet," Carol said. "I thought I told you that—he wasn't even there when Sophia was born."

"Who?" Daryl asked. "I mean—who rubbed your feet? If it weren't Ed."

"It was a girl who was volunteering at the hospital," Carol said.

"Like a candy striper?" Daryl asked.

"Something like that," Carol said. "Getting hours for school or something. She told me, but she offered to rub my feet for a little while I was in labor." Carol moved around, rooting deeper into her pillow as Daryl switched feet. He was daring enough now to work muscles all the way up to her knees, and she was no longer even attempting to keep her eyes open. She was awake, though, and she groaned out as a reward for every point that he hit that she enjoyed a great deal. He paid special attention to the places she indicated for him.

Carol fell quiet and Daryl wasn't sure what to say to her. He continued his work, even though his hands ached, and he found that it relaxed him in a way that he wouldn't have expected. It was methodical, and it kept his hands busy. In addition, though, it excited him because every time that Carol let him know that she enjoyed what he was doing, his body suggested that he might try to make her feel good in other ways—ways he didn't dare to offer because it wasn't acceptable and, beyond that, he wasn't sure that he could come through with the promises his body wanted to make, anyway.

When he finally stopped, Carol opened her eyes to him, but she clearly looked sleepy.

"Sorry," Daryl said. "My hands are crampin' up."

"It's OK," Carol said with a smile. "Thank you—that was…"

She never did finish by offering an adjective for what, exactly, the massage had been. It didn't matter. Daryl didn't need to hear the specific word she was thinking of—if, in fact, she was thinking of any particular word—to feel her appreciation.

Careful to keep the blanket where he needed to be for modesty purposes, while also trying to move it up Carol's body as he moved so that she'd be covered at least as much as she had been before, Daryl made his way back up the bed to lie properly on his side of the bed with his head against his pillow.

He reached his hand over and touched Carol's belly again. He rubbed his hand over the soft fabric of her nightgown. He felt no movement beneath his palm this time.

"Did she stop?" He asked.

"She did," Carol breathed out.

"She go to sleep?" Daryl asked. "Does she sleep?"

"She sleeps," Carol said with a smile. "From what I understand, she does everything. She sleeps, she moves, she yawns, and sucks her thumb. I think the only thing she doesn't do is eat, and that's because my body just automatically gives her what she needs."

"So, she's asleep now?" Daryl asked.

"I guess," Carol said. She reached and took Daryl's hand in her own. Before he could ask what she was doing, she began kneading his hand in her own. He closed his eyes to the sensation. There was a quiet laugh from the pillow next to his. "Feel good?"

"I won't ask you to stop," he said. "Unless—you want to, I mean."

She obviously didn't want to, because she didn't stop.

"Daryl—it's nice…having you here," Carol said. "Not being all alone is nice."

"I like it too," Daryl admitted. His heart danced around in his chest. It felt like, all over his body, his various organs were asking each other what he might say or do next. He could practically feel a surge of electricity running through him. It felt like he had an interior telegraph machine linking up to discuss what might happen.

Nothing would happen. His gut couldn't handle it. It couldn't let it happen.

"Can I ask you a question?" Carol asked.

"You just did," Daryl said. He smirked at the face she made, but she laughed to herself.

"It's just that—I've told you all about Ed. And I'm sure—I'll tell you more about Ed than you want to know because he was a big part of my life."

"I want you to say what you wanna say," Daryl said. "It doesn't do you any good to keep it all bottled up like that."

"I believe that's true for everyone," Carol said. "So, I want to hear whatever you want to say. About you."

"I don't have much of anything to say," Daryl said. "Not right now."

"I understand," Carol said. "You can't say it until you're ready to say it. But—can I just…ask you one question? And I know it's not my place and if you don't want to answer it…"

"I guess I owe you a couple," Daryl offered, cutting her off because he could practically feel her tensing up over it all. She squeezed his hand—the one she still hadn't released—and he didn't remind her that she was still holding it.

"Have you ever loved someone, Daryl? I mean—not just loved someone, but…have you ever been in love? With a woman?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Well, I sure ain't been in love with a man before," he offered. "I mean—it's good for some, I guess. But it ain't really my thing."

"Have you ever been in love with a woman?" Carol asked.

Daryl could practically hear the alarm sound inside of his body as his systems processed the question and considered his answer.

"Yeah," he finally said. It was true, but to discuss it any further would be to open a can of worms that they probably didn't want to deal with—maybe not ever, but certainly not at this particular moment. "But I don't wanna talk about it."

He saw Carol's features fall.

"I understand," she offered.

"Tonight," Daryl added, hating to disappoint her even if his attempts to keep from disappointing her might only end up alienating her in the long run. "Gotta—fuckin' go to sleep. This slumber-party bullshit ain't gonna help neither one of us in the morning."

He managed to put enough of the intended teasing behind his words that Carol caught it and laughed.

"Alright then," she said, releasing his hand and pulling her pillow up under her chin. "Keep your secrets for tonight, but don't think that I'm going to let you off the hook."

"I'm countin' on it," Daryl said. And even as his gut wrenched with the words and he attempted to settle into his spot, he realized it was true. He really was counting on her trying to uncover his secret and, with a thought that would bring him sweet dreams for the night, he only hoped that he might convince her, as they went along, that she wanted to feel the same.


	32. Chapter 32

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**If you missed the last chapter, because this is the second today, don't forget to go and read it! **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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When Carol woke, she felt safe and secure in a way that she didn't normally feel. She drifted slowly into consciousness. The first thing she became aware of was the fact that her bladder, although it wasn't screaming at her that she was on the verge of an embarrassing accident, was letting her know that she should plan a future trip to the bathroom at her earliest convenience. The second thing she became aware of was the fact that, while she rested on her side, an arm looped over her and tucked around her, catching her just above her belly and below her breasts.

In his sleep, it seemed, Daryl had found her and pulled her to him like a pillow or a teddy bear. He slept soundly. She could hear the sound of him breathing—the noise he was making just short of a snore—as he snuggled tight against her.

It was then that Carol became aware of the third thing she felt. Her face ran warm as she realized, slowly, what she was feeling. Daryl was almost flush against her and he was suffering from what Carol knew to be a normally occurring phenomenon for men. She would have to move eventually, though, to appease her bladder, and she was certain that Daryl would be horrified to know that his erection had been pressing into her back while he slept.

Daryl was no stranger to erections, and that much Carol knew was true, but it appeared that he must simply be a man who was sensitive to his surroundings and prone to becoming easily—and unintentionally—aroused. She'd noticed his arousal quite a few times in the time she'd spent being close to him since she'd met him. They seemed to be something that just happened to him no matter the time nor the circumstances.

He also seemed somewhat embarrassed by them. Sometimes, Carol had to admit to herself that she might not have noticed that Daryl was suffering with some seemingly unwanted bodily response if he hadn't gone through some efforts to try and hide the fact that he'd become aroused by something.

Of course, Carol could understand that he'd be embarrassed if his erections didn't indicate true arousal and, instead, simply came from some kind of sensitivity. He wouldn't want to give the wrong idea, especially if he were in the presence of something—or someone—toward which he felt very little actual attraction.

Daryl had tried to hide his arousal numerous times in Carol's presence. The night before, even, Carol had noticed that Daryl had been aroused. It had been impossible to hide his condition, but he'd done his best to keep her from noticing. As a courtesy to him, and in an effort to save him any embarrassment that he had no reason to feel, Carol hadn't drawn attention to his condition. After all, she had no idea what it would be like if she were unable to hide the fact that she was aroused whenever such an occurrence took place.

Even at the moment, and even though she had no right to feel the way she did, she could feel an ache between her legs as her body woke up and took full notice of Daryl's arousal. Her body responded to his arousal by preparing itself—foolishly and without reason—for sex.

Carol hardly wanted anything more than she wanted to wake Daryl and invite him to relieve himself. She wanted to feel him inside of her. She wanted to make him feel good. She knew that she wasn't very good at sex, and that she didn't possess whatever skills there were that most other women seemed to naturally possess, but she wanted to offer her body to Daryl to use as he pleased.

She understood that his arousal wasn't truly directed toward her. She understood that he couldn't help what happened while he was sleeping. She also understood that his need to hide his arousal so entirely was probably because he didn't want her getting the wrong idea and having some expectation of him.

Still, she would have gladly offered—even knowing that—to let him find some relief in her.

It had been some time since the outbreak had first started, and Carol knew that Daryl had been without a woman's attentions since then. Even though his need was probably purely physical, she would have gladly met it. It would only make it more difficult, she was sure, to see him move on—when he finally did—but she would at least enjoy it while it lasted.

She would gladly take whatever he was willing to give her of himself, even if she was just a stand-in until something better came along.

She'd heard of friends with benefits, but she didn't know exactly how people got into such a situation. She wasn't sure she was bold enough to suggest such a thing. She wasn't sure that she was strong enough, either, to gracefully take the rejection if Daryl was horrified by such a proposal.

And she was afraid of losing him as a friend. She was terrified of losing him entirely.

It would hurt to see him with someone else, but at least she would see him.

The ache between Carol's legs slowly migrated to her chest until she couldn't breathe. It was her need to move around and hopefully get oxygen that drove her from the bed. For once, her bladder hadn't won the fight.

Carol did her best to ease out from under Daryl's arm. Once she started moving it, though, to escape, it started to wake Daryl. As he woke, he moved, and in his movement, he rolled onto his back. He made a few sounds of coming into consciousness.

Carol couldn't bear to look at him at that moment, so she kept her back to him. She got up as quickly as she could and went to the bathroom. Daryl said something to her—he mumbled something she couldn't or wouldn't make out—but she didn't respond. Carol closed the bathroom door behind her and then stood there, in the dark bathroom, for a moment before she even switched on the light.

When she finally switched on the light, she took in the reality of her reflection.

Her hair was a mess. It was beginning to grow and it was just gaining enough length that it started to be flattened here or there and to stick out at odd angles.

Her face was puffy from sleep and her eyes were a little purple—evidence that she either wasn't sleeping enough, hadn't caught up on all the sleep she'd missed over the last while, or wasn't sleeping as well as she wanted to be sleeping.

The nightgown she wore was comfortable and soft. It was a little low cut and a little shorter than she would have probably chosen for herself. It had been a gift from Andrea and it was a great deal more suited to the blonde—and not only because Carol was carrying a baby that was a great deal larger than the practically microscopic fetus that Andrea carried. Even before she'd gotten pregnant, Carol wouldn't have been fit for this gown.

Ed had always told her that she was fat and, worse than that, oddly proportioned. No matter how much weight she lost through diets and practically self-imposed starvation, she was still fat. He would point it out to her. He would pinch, poke, and pull at her fat. She was lumpy and bumpy and she'd never have a flat belly or abs. She was soft around the middle even before she'd gotten pregnant for the very first time, and pregnancy had only made that worse and streaked her belly with stretchmarks. She always had love handles, too, that she could never get rid of and her thighs were too large and dimpled with cellulite.

And now, on top of everything that had been there before, she was pregnant again.

Some women were beautiful when they were pregnant. Their bellies were perfect and round. They made pregnancy look amazing. Their breasts were perky and perfect.

Carol's belly was currently somewhat lopsided—thanks to the baby's apparent decision to take a position leaning against one side of her belly. Her breasts were heavy and drooped instead of standing at attention—and she would only become less attractive as the next twelve weeks marched on.

Suddenly, Carol wanted to cry more than she could recall wanting to cry in the last little while.

She turned on the water and took down her towel from the rack where it hung. She used the towel to muffle her sobs, but she allowed herself to indulge in the tears that she felt. She was sure she'd drown if she didn't get them out. She couldn't breathe for all the room they took up within her body, so they couldn't stay there.

Carol was unsure how long she sobbed into the towel, but she did her best to draw things to a close as quickly as possible. She didn't want to waste the running water, and she didn't know what Daryl might be doing outside the bathroom. There were other bathrooms that he could use if he needed to relieve himself, but she didn't want him worrying about her if he was outside the bathroom and wondering what was taking her so long.

Carol pulled herself together, blew her nose, emptied her bladder, and then she washed her face and hands and brushed her teeth before she used some of the water to try to convince her hair to look a little less matted on the side where her face had spent much of the night pressed into the pillow.

Finally, she dried her face and stared at her reflection again.

Water could only do so much. It wasn't some sort of magic elixir. Her eyes were slightly pink from the crying, and her nose was slightly red from the blowing, but she felt better, at least.

Carol sighed.

Daryl would probably never find her attractive. She may even discover that it was the case that Ed was right—no man would ever really find her attractive and she could never do better than him, who had claimed to have taken pity on her. Maybe, when Daryl moved on from this and found someone to truly have a relationship with, she'd simply be alone.

At least she'd have friends, though, and she'd have her daughter—if she could manage to get her here safely and keep her safe.

She could do without a man if she had to, and, even though it would be difficult for her to see it, she'd be happy for Daryl if he did find someone to love. He'd been in love before, after all. He'd said so himself. Daryl was the kindest man that Carol had ever known. Carol didn't know what had happened, but if the woman he'd loved had known his feelings, she'd have been a fool not reciprocate them. Of course, Carol didn't know if there was some underlying tragedy that he had never shared with her surrounding the absence of that woman in his life now. At any rate, she hoped he found love again. He certainly deserved it.

He deserved happiness in the meantime, too, though. And he deserved the simple comforts that a man needed. He deserved the simple, animal comforts that a man needed.

And she would welcome any comfort that she could draw from providing them.

Carol gathered up her courage to emerge from the room and offer herself over to him. She gathered up her courage to be able to tell him that she understood what a paltry offering she was really making. She gathered up her strength to withstand the rejection if he felt that she was even too disappointing for something as simply as a little relief from natural urges and instincts.

And then she stepped out of the bathroom.

Daryl had clearly chosen to go to the bathroom in the other part of the house. There would have been no other reason for him to have put on the pants that he was now wearing. He sat on her side of the bed, facing the bathroom door, with his hands folded in his lap. His hair, like her own before she'd wet it down, was matted on one side and stuck out at odd angles elsewhere.

He frowned at her.

"You OK?" He asked.

"I had to—pee," Carol said.

"That was the longest piss in history," Daryl commented.

Carol laughed to herself.

"And I washed my face," Carol said. "And brushed my teeth, and fixed my hair and…"

"And you was upset," Daryl offered. Carol must have made a face to give away the surprise she felt that was followed by the sinking feeling. "Them walls ain't as thick as any of us would want 'em to be."

"Hormones," Carol offered.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I reckon so." He didn't sound convinced. "Listen—about—this mornin'. I'm…hell…I'm sorry about…ya know…but it just kinda got away from me. I swear I ain't meant to…to…hell, it just got away from me."

"I know you didn't mean it," Carol said. "I wanted to tell you, though—and this is up to you and I'm sorry if…if you'd rather I hadn't said anything—that…as long as we're being married for show. For Merle and Andrea and for settling into this place. And until it's time to, you know, dissolve this for something else…I know that there are certain things that—that people need. Just normal things they…sometimes need. And I know that you're a man and you have needs and…even if you wanted to say it was practice…"

She nearly choked, but the word made her laugh a little. It broke the tension, for just a second, that was tying everything up inside of her.

Daryl was staring at her, brow furrowed and mouth partially open, but he still hadn't said anything. She wasn't allowing him time to say anything and, maybe, she hadn't been fully clear just yet.

"What I'm trying to say is that—if you wanted to, and you don't have to say you do if you don't, I could help you take care of that. I would be—more than willing to do that for you. With you."

Daryl stared at her, mouth open.

"If you want…" Carol added again, hoping to let him know that she didn't want him to feel pressured into anything. She wanted him to feel like the offer was casual. She didn't want him to know how desperately she really wanted something far greater than that which she was offering.

She was willing to settle, after all, for anything he wanted.

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**AN: I usually try not to post a second chapter of a fic on the same day as I posted the first and, I'll be entirely honest, it's because people don't review both chapters if you do. **

**I wrote this one, though, and I wanted to share it. I will be that person, though, and ask you review both chapters if you enjoyed both. (My apologies to those readers who dislike when authors ask for you to review. I'm only requesting reviews if you enjoyed what you read. If you didn't, feel free to ignore me entirely.) I won't sugarcoat things. I'll be entirely honest. Work doesn't always provide a lot of thanks or appreciation. Sometimes this is the only place I find any of it, and it's been a very long week. So, if you liked what you read, I'd appreciate knowing. Have a great day! **


	33. Chapter 33

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl's head was buzzing. He stared at Carol a moment, trying to figure out if he was having some sort of waking dream. She stared back at him, and he saw the expression of concern start to drift over her features.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said, "but I ain't sure that I'm all the way awake yet an' my head is kinda fuckin' fuzzy. Did you just…are you sayin' that you wanna have sex with me?"

Carol looked like her feet had suddenly been riveted to the floor and, on top of that, she looked like she was suddenly struggling to breathe.

"I didn't mean to insult you or anything," she said. "It's just…I know you're not seeing anyone else right now and I know that you…"

Daryl stood up before she could spiral out of control because, for once, it looked like she might. It looked like, if she were able to get her feet to move out of their now permanent spots, she might simply run away and she might never stop.

He caught her shoulders and held them tight against the possibility of her running away.

"Insult me? I just—wanna know for sure if that's what you're askin'," Daryl said. "Because—I'm not always the fastest person when I just woke up and…I haven't been up too long."

Carol nodded her head.

"If you want to," she offered quietly.

"Do you want to, though?" Daryl asked. "You look kinda—unsure about it." She looked like she might pass out. The color had drained entirely from her face. There was very little that Daryl wanted more than to have sex with Carol, but he absolutely didn't want to do it if she wasn't happy with the idea of it. "If you don't want to, you don't owe me nothin', OK? I don't want you to think that I was expectin' you to…to do nothin' that you don't wanna do. As friends or—or whatever, OK? I don't want you thinkin' that I expect you to do nothin'."

A little color washed back into her face and Carol pulled against Daryl's hold on her arms enough to come toward him. He immediately knew that she was seeking a kiss and he granted her that. The kiss wasn't the soft kind that she usually looked for. It felt more like a request for Daryl to kiss her the way that he wanted. Knowing that she expected his kiss, though, and knowing that there might actually be more to come, terrified Daryl a little. He pushed through it to kiss her. And once he started kissing her, he let his senses simply take over.

There was at least one part of him that was very interested in Carol's offer, and Carol seemed to already know that. While they kissed, Carol fumbled with the button on Daryl's jeans and, before long, she slipped her hand inside them and let her fingers find their way into the thin boxer shorts that Daryl was wearing.

He broke the kiss and pulled away from her almost as soon as she touched him.

"I'm sorry!" She barked, like she'd been burned. She immediately turned red in the face and Daryl was pretty sure that she realized she was loud enough for her voice to have carried. Daryl could only hope that T-Dog was either out of the house or had the common sense and common courtesy to let himself out. "I thought you wanted to."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I guess since your hand was on my dick you know I want to," Daryl said.

"I didn't mean to overstep any boundaries," Carol said. "I just thought…"

Daryl held his hands up to stop her. It was clear that she'd misread his stepping away.

"I ain't bothered you did what'cha did," he said. "Hell—if we gonna do this, I gotta say I'm kinda hopin' you gonna touch my dick. Truth is, though, that if you get to doin' that too much? The show's gonna be over 'fore it starts."

Carol nodded her understanding.

"What do you want?" She asked. She walked around him and went back to the bed. She sat down on her side of the bed. Daryl followed her and sat down beside her.

"I don't want to overstep no boundaries, either," he offered.

"I don't think there are any," Carol said. "Not off the top of my head. Not if you want to, but—you don't have to do anything." She breathed out like she was trying to slow her own self down. Daryl simply waited her out. She nodded to herself like she was ready to begin again, and she did begin again. "But if there are…if…if there's anything that I realize is a boundary or you realize is a boundary, then…I guess we'll just say it."

Daryl nodded his understanding. He was torn between the internal feeling of wanting to be sick from the nerves his gut was churning out and wanting to be happy enough to consider if he was actually capable of clicking his heels like some sort of black and white movie character. Carol had seen him mostly without clothes, and she'd already wrapped her long fingers around his dick. He figured he'd be the one to introduce the idea of ridding clothes. He stood up and quickly shucked out of his pants and boxers.

She watched him, but her face showed no disapproval.

Then he came back to her and tugged at the gown she was wearing. Her breathing was audibly heavy, but she didn't ask him to stop. Instead, she helped him remove the garment.

Daryl had caught a glimpse of her breasts before. He'd memorized the perfect peaks of her nipples. Her breasts were larger now. They were heavier and he assumed that their change came from their natural preparation to feed the baby she was growing. When he'd seen her breasts before, he'd never really imagined that he'd be given permission to touch them and, more than that, to do whatever she didn't tell him was off limits.

Daryl kissed her again. This time, Carol went where he directed her and she laid back against the pillow. He trailed his kiss down to her chin and he nibbled his way down her neck until he reached the little valley between her collarbones. Her skin was slightly salty and she was every bit as delicious as he'd imagined she'd be. He flattened his tongue against the skin of that little valley and trailed it back up her throat. She squirmed a little, but it wasn't as though she was really trying to run from him.

He worked his way down to the breasts that he'd meticulously recorded in his memory and he dared to take one of her nipples into his mouth. He rubbed it with his flattened tongue and teased it with the tip of his tongue before catching it between his tongue and the roof of his mouth to suck at it.

The sound of pleasure that escaped Carol was enough to make Daryl have to stop what he was doing and regain control of himself. He looked at her. He wasn't entirely sure that there was pleasure on her face. It may have been pain. She didn't ask him to stop. Instead, she caught his face in her hands and she pulled him to her. She kissed him. She kissed him until he was pulling away from her to breathe and she was panting from having deprived herself of oxygen.

When the kiss was done, Daryl returned to the other breast and he tasted the nipple to see if it felt different than the other. He tried, desperately, to remember the texture of it against his tongue in case the day may never come again when she was feeling so generous toward him.

People had needs, after all, like she'd said, but needs could easily be filled by others who were more suited to such a thing.

The permission to touch extended, from what he could tell, as far as he wanted it to extend. She would tell him if he was doing wrong. She would tell him if she wanted him to stop.

He pressed his lips, first, to her belly. He had failed to have the talk with himself that he'd intended to have about the fact that he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to feel aroused by Carol's condition. It might not have done any good, anyway, to have that talk to himself. He mostly felt like, no matter how much he asked it to behave, his dick had a mind of its own. It refused to be held down when something caught its attention—and everything about Carol caught its attention.

"Shit…" Daryl moaned when Carol made another of the soft kitten-type sounds of pleasure. He pressed his palms flat on either side of her belly, and he pressed his face to her belly and kissed it again. As he did, he felt the familiar movement beneath her skin. He looked at Carol, his heart thundering in his chest.

She was pink faced and looked caught somewhere between pain and surprise. She came back into herself, though, once he'd stopped.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"I think she's awake," Daryl offered.

"She is," Carol said.

Daryl's stomach twisted.

"So, is this OK?" He asked.

The part of him that he was absolutely trying to ignore for the moment—because if he didn't ignore his dick as much as possible, the party would be over by now—wanted to throw a fit because Daryl's brain, practically wheezing and dizzy from what felt like a lack of blood, oxygen, and common sense, was starting to suggest that they stop what they were doing out of respect for Carol and her child.

Instead of shoving him off, though, Carol smiled to herself.

He welcomed that smile. It was the first he'd seen all morning that was so genuine.

"It's fine," Carol said. "She's fine. She won't get hurt or—even inconvenienced."

"Not even if I…when we're havin' sex, I don't want to hurt her," Daryl said.

Carol shook her head. She laughed to herself. She reached for Daryl and sat up as best she could from the position in which he practically had her pinned. He came to her to lessen her struggle and she kissed him. This time it was soft, but it was sincere. He closed his eyes. He loved the way she used her lips to gently catch his bottom lip. She smiled at him, again, when the kiss broke.

"She's protected," Carol promised him. "You would have to really, really hurt me to hurt her. And—you're not going to do that."

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."

Carol kissed him again. She sighed into his mouth. Where he held her, he could feel her muscles relaxing. She'd been somewhat tense before, but it felt like every muscle in her body softened.

When he pulled away, Daryl continued his journey downward—retracing a few of his previous steps with his tongue and lips—but Carol caught him as he trailed kisses over the skin of her belly, working his way downward.

"Don't," she breathed out.

"Don't what?" Daryl asked.

Carol suddenly seemed upset by something, and Daryl was sorry for whatever he'd done. He'd only been where he'd already been before, but apparently, he'd crossed a boundary of some sort.

Carol reached and pushed at her panties. Seeing that she was trying to remove them, Daryl caught them and quickly slid them down her legs. He dropped them to the floor and, immediately, he forgot what she'd said. He forgot that he was trying to figure out what she didn't want him to do. The only thing he could do was stare at her.

Whatever control he'd had over his dick started to go out of the window. If he had ever thought her breasts were perfect—that her nipples were perfect—her pussy was amazing and it was open to him. It was available to him. It was on offer to him. He had never actually tasted pussy before. He'd never wanted to. But he wanted to taste hers more than he'd ever wanted to taste anything in his life.

Before he could dive in, though, and test the textures of her skin and her juices—before he could suck on those lips as surely as he'd sucked on any others that she possessed, Carol caught his face and pulled him up so that he would look at her.

"Please…don't…" she stammered.

For a split second, Daryl felt like he'd been kneed in the gut. He didn't question her, though, and he didn't beg permission to just be allowed enough time to save up memories for his own personal use later—later when she was no longer interested in things like this. Instead, he came to her and kissed her again.

"You're done?" He asked, breathing into her ear.

She moved to sit up a little from where he was pinning her, and her fingers sought him out again.

"Come on," she said. "You can do—whatever you need to do. You won't hurt her and…I'll enjoy it."

She was doing her best to guide him into her, but he knew he'd never make it blind. He pulled away from her and rearranged her body, but he was pretty sure that they weren't going to make a comfortable connection. Her belly wasn't huge, but it was going to limit their closeness a little.

"What's the best way to…?" Daryl asked. He didn't have to finish. Carol rolled away from him and onto her side.

"I'm sorry," she said. "Can you…? Is this OK?"

Daryl nodded at her. He could work with anything. He wasn't very good at sex in general, and she'd soon find that out, but maybe she'd forgive him if she thought he was simply limited by the position.

She was warm and wet and welcoming. He chose a position where he could, at least, still kiss the side of her face and somewhat keep an eye on how she was reacting. She closed her eyes as he entered her and he stopped a moment, hoping that he wasn't doing something wrong. The way she looked at him when she opened her eyes, though, told him that she might think his stopping was the something that he did wrong.

Though he'd been limiting his dick throughout the experience, he finally let it have free reign. If any part of him would know best what to do in the moment, that would be the one to follow. She felt so good, though, and he felt like he'd waited so long to feel her, that it hardly lasted as long as he wanted it to last. He got the sinking feeling, too, that she hadn't come.

Daryl had wanted her to come, but he'd hardly given her time.

And she had seemed reluctant to give him too much contact with her pussy—even though he wasn't sure why it was off limits except when they were having sex—so he didn't push to touch her and try to coax an orgasm out of her. When he'd come, he'd dropped down behind her and kissed her shoulder. He'd let his hand trail over her belly and he'd dared to let it trail upward so that his fingers could rub the nipples that, at least, he'd been allowed to suck.

The euphoria of sex, which he might have hoped would last for hours, was quickly replaced by a certain melancholy when Carol pulled away from him and went to the bathroom, excusing herself with the declaration that she really had to pee and she'd be right back.

Daryl wondered if she'd ever really come back to him again or if the need, as she'd called it, would simply have passed.

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**AN: I just want to thank everyone for their kind words yesterday. I really appreciate your support more than you know! It keeps me going in a lot of ways! **

**I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you think! **


	34. Chapter 34

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl stood smoking out of the window when Carol came out of the bathroom.

Eventually they'd be wanted to work. They'd need to grab some breakfast. But, for now, it was still early enough that nobody would be beating down their door. They might even give them something of a grace period given that Carol was expecting and Daryl was the leader's brother—and he'd already put in twice as much work as he'd seen a couple of people put in.

At any rate, he'd tell them just now to go and fuck themselves if they came beating on the door.

Carol was every bit as naked as Daryl was when she came out the bathroom. If his body hadn't been spent from earlier efforts, he might have shown her his interest in trying again—maybe even redeeming himself.

She started to get dressed. She looked a little like her feelings were shattered, and Daryl could somewhat understand the sentiment.

"I didn't expect it to be the best in the world," he offered. "I mean—I didn't say it would be and I kinda knew it wasn't gonna be that good. Hell—I won't lie and I'm not too proud to admit that my experience is pretty damn limited. But I never expected it to be so damn bad that'cha damn near run outta the room an' come back lookin' like you been cryin'." Daryl's throat felt restricted and he cleared it. "Were you…cryin'?"

"Hormones," Carol breathed out.

"Holy shit," Daryl mused. "Ain't that some shit? So damn bad I made you cry."

He didn't admit that it almost made him want to cry. He'd never expected to be some kind of sex god—and certainly the limited experience he'd had in the past hadn't really left him with any illusions of grandeur, but he'd almost dreamed that he'd be somehow magically be good for Carol. He'd somehow be magically good when it really mattered to him.

"No!" Carol practically barked at him. "No—no! It wasn't that. It wasn't you! Daryl you're…"

She stopped what she was doing. She was wearing a shirt, and panties, but she hadn't yet gone through the effort of wrestling her way into pants. Wrestling into the panties had been effort enough. Instead of dressing, she walked around the bed and met Daryl even as he snubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray.

"Don't do me no favors by lyin' to me, OK?" Daryl offered.

"Are you angry with me?" Carol asked.

Daryl gritted his teeth against his feelings. Of all the emotions that he felt at the moment, anger seemed to be the one that was most acceptable.

"You ain't that damn good, neither!" He barked at her. He immediately wanted to take it back. He wanted to take it all back.

Carol stared at him, mouth open, and tears clearly puddled in her eyes.

"I'm sorry," Carol breathed out. "I'm sorry that—I wasn't what you wanted me to be. I only offered to—I thought you might think it was better than nothing. That I was better than nothing. I didn't mean to make you angry…"

She turned, probably to attempt to get into pants and shoes so that she could leave the room. Daryl reached out and caught her arm before she could go too far. She turned quickly and looked back at him, wide-eyed. His stomach caught. He understood the expression. She was waiting for more. She was, more than likely, waiting for him to land a hard slap across her face.

That wasn't his intention at all, and he made that as clear to her as he could by letting go of her arm.

"Wait," he said. "I'm mad at me. Not you. And—you ain't done nothin' wrong. Can I just—talk to you a minute? I mean—I'm wide-open here. Naked. Kinda vulnerable."

Carol nodded her head gently, but she did wait.

"What do you need?" Carol asked. "What do you—want?"

"Which question you want answered?" Daryl asked. He lit another cigarette for himself. Carol didn't answer his question. Instead, she proposed one of her own that was unrelated to her previous two and left them drifting somewhere in space and memory.

"Can I?" Carol asked, pointing to the bed. Daryl assumed she wanted to sit and he nodded his head.

"I ain't your boss," Daryl said. "And I didn't mean to get pissed."

"I understand," Carol said. "You're sorry that—you did what you did. With me." She sat on the bed.

It struck Daryl and he laughed to himself.

"What?" He asked.

"You're sorry you…had sex with me," Carol clarified.

"I'm sorry I was so damned bad at it that you ain't had no fuckin' choice but to go an' hide in the damn bathroom while you cried over…over how fuckin' bad I was!" Daryl responded. Carol winced and leaned back a little. "Sorry," Daryl said, checking the volume of his voice. "I just—wanted you to like it."

"I did like it," Carol said, somewhat mournfully. Daryl laughed to himself.

"That don't sound like you liked it," Daryl said.

"Well I did," Carol said. "What do you want me to do, Daryl? To prove I liked it?"

"Not fuckin' cry about it," Daryl offered. "And I don't want you to lie to me, either. I know you didn't like it. I know you didn't come."

"So?" Carol asked.

"So—if you'da liked it…" Daryl offered. "But hell, I didn't give you but like…sixty fuckin' seconds to get from start to finish."

Carol laughed and Daryl was struck by the sound. He didn't know whether to be offended or thankful for the sound of her laughter breaking up some of the tension in the room.

"If I'm not mistaken—it was your first time in a while?" Carol asked.

"First damn time in way longer than I care to mention if I don't want you to lose all respect for me," Daryl admitted. "If we ain't talkin' about—rubbin' one out, myself, now and again, just so my head gets cleared."

Carol stood up. She walked toward Daryl. The way she looked at him made him want to wrap up in her arms. It made him want to go back to bed and ask her to stay, looking at him just that way, for a little while. It made him ache for the afterglow he'd imagined that had simply failed to be.

"It was good," Carol said. "And I'm not lying. I enjoyed it. More than—I've ever enjoyed sex before."

Daryl didn't bother to swallow back his laughter.

"Now I know you fuckin' yankin' me around," he said. "Because if that was the best you ever had then you had some shitty fuckin' sex before."

Daryl saw the expression that crossed Carol's face. He saw the slight shrug of her shoulders as if to say that he wasn't telling her anything that she didn't know. The reality of it dropped like a lead weight in his stomach.

He snubbed out the cigarette and touched her face. She closed her eyes to him and kept them closed. He lamented, for a second, that he'd gotten to spend so little time simply taking her in. He'd memorized parts of her, but he needed more time to memorize more.

Her face, though, he knew well.

"You ain't gonna go cry in the bathroom if I kiss you, are you?" Daryl asked.

The sound that escaped her when she opened her mouth was caught between a laugh and a sob.

"I wish you would," Carol said.

He didn't need to be asked twice. Daryl kissed her like he wanted to kiss her. He kissed her the way that he enjoyed kissing her. And this time, he didn't force the kiss to stop at her lips. He allowed it trail down, and he kissed her chin and her jawbone. He moved to work his way down her neck, and he nibbled his way to her collarbone. He wrapped his arms around her and slipped his hands into the back of her underwear to cup her ass.

She groaned at him. She kissed him back hungrily—not at all like she was disappointed with him. She didn't ask him to stop, and she didn't scold him for search her body with his fingertips while his mouth kissed everywhere the shirt she was wearing allowed him to reach.

He dared to let his hand trail to the front of her underwear. When she didn't call him back or ask him to stop, he let his fingers crawl through the soft curls. She whined and stiffened as he slid his fingers further down. He pulled her to him and he kissed her as his fingers found the slick evidence of her arousal—his own arousal not at all hidden from either of them.

Carol's hand found his, then, and wrapped around his wrist.

"Stop," she breathed out, against his lips. "I can come out of my underwear. I'll turn around. You can—fuck me."

Daryl's heart thundered. He didn't dislike that suggestion at all. He loved the way it sounded on her lips. He loved the way she somewhat growled it out. He absolutely wanted to do it because he felt like she wanted it, but something else was bothering him. Something else thumped around inside his mind.

"I wanna fuck you," he said, not moving more than his face, just enough so that he could hold Carol's eyes with his own. He neither proceeded with touching her nor retreated. She remained still, too, with her fingers wrapped around his wrist. "Shit—I wanna fuck you. But—Carol? I wanna…eat your pussy, too."

Carol blanched. All the blood ran out of her face.

"You can't do that," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"You might be right," he said. "Hell—I ain't never done it before. But—as long as we're…you know. In the spirit of practice? I sure wanna try."

"You can't," Carol repeated.

"Why?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I guess you don't owe me no explanation but—if I can fuck you…and even now I can feel you wet…why? You got some kinda—rule against it?" Carol frowned deeply at him. "Please don't cry again. I'll do anything you want if you don't cry again."

"I'm sorry," Carol breathed out. "I really can't help it…I hate it. I'm sorry."

"I just wanna know," Daryl said. "I know I don't have no right to ask it of you. You don't owe me nothin' and I done took more'n you ever had to give for this whole relationship thing T got you into, but…why?"

"It's the worst part," Carol said. "Of me."

"What?" Daryl asked.

"It's not normal," Carol said.

Daryl furrowed her brows at him.

"What the hell ain't normal?" He asked.

"It's—ugly," Carol said.

"I'm sorry for what the hell I'ma say," Daryl said, "but—it's a pussy, Carol. Looks like a pussy. Same as my dick just looks like a damn dick."

"It doesn't look like a normal one," Carol said. "The lips are…wrong. They're ugly. Too big."

Daryl could feel her tension, and she tightened her fingers around his wrist. He didn't even need to point out to her the awkwardness of their current position. He could literally feel said lips without moving. He barely twitched his finger and the slightest expression of interest trailed over Carol's features.

"I think you're wrong," Daryl said. "But—I'd know for sure if you…give me another look."

"You won't even want to have sex if I do," Carol challenged. "It'll ruin the mood."

"If this shit ain't ruinin' the mood," Daryl offered, "then you grossly underestimatin' my ability to stay hard when I know I'm about to have somethin' I'll enjoy."

She actually smiled—just barely—and Daryl smiled to himself as a congratulations for bringing out the smile on her lips.

"Please?" He repeated.

"You ought to know—it doesn't taste right," Carol said.

"I never tasted pussy before so…gonna be my baseline," Daryl offered.

"Or smell right," Carol said. "And—it'll make you sick."

Daryl pulled his hand free. His heart was pounding because of the way that she was looking at him. She had her eyes locked on him so intently that he thought she might bore a hole right through him. Someone had told her that something was very, very wrong with her pussy and Daryl had a pretty damn good idea who it was. Suddenly, this became about a great deal more than pussy—though he was sure that his brother would have a certain sense of pride in the fact that eating pussy was the hill he'd chosen to die on today.

He sucked his finger, without blinking or pulling his eyes away from Carol.

"Tastes all right to me," he offered. "But—I wouldn't mind a better taste."

Carol faced off with him for a moment before she pushed her panties down and let them drop. When they hit the floor, she stepped out of them and sat down on the side of the bed. Daryl offered her his pillow and she slipped it under her back before she pulled her own pillow under her head. He gave her time to get comfortable.

"You good?" He asked, tugging the blanket down so his knees would have something soft to rest on as he took his chosen position.

"You don't have to do this," Carol offered.

"You might wish I hadn't," Daryl offered with a laugh. "Don't expect nothin'. I don't have a fuckin' clue what I'm doing. But—for the record? It's the nicest pussy I've ever seen."

Daryl didn't bother to tell Carol that he'd seen relatively few. It didn't matter. She shifted around and made herself even more comfortable with his words. Daryl closed his eyes and extended his tongue. First, he let it tentatively explore her. He let himself learn her taste and her smell. He sucked on the labia—the inner ones that Ed had apparently insulted—with the same enthusiasm that he'd used to suck her nipples earlier and, whether it was because they were sensitive or whether it was because his appreciation of them meant something to her, Carol raised her hips at him.

With his hands, he moved her legs to convince her to relax and hook them over his shoulders, and he took his time kissing, sucking, and tasting every inch of her. When he found something she liked, he repeated it until he was quite satisfied to have her squirming and making the kitten sounds he liked while she clawed at the sheets on the bed like she might, somehow, fall off of it.

It was only when he couldn't stand it anymore that he stood up.

"Like this or…?" He asked.

She clearly understood. She seemed a little wobbly—a little shaky—as she chose her own position. On all fours, she backed up to him and Daryl tugged her backward a little more to bring her closer to the edge of the bed. As soon as he sunk into her, he let his instinct take over. He didn't make it as long as he wanted, and he was certain that Carol hadn't come from the sex, but he was pretty sure he'd brought her some satisfaction beforehand.

As soon as he came, he crawled onto the bed and pulled Carol down beside him so that he could fit himself tightly against her back. She seemed to understand what he wanted. Whether or not she wanted the same, she took pity on him, and she let him fit himself against her. She pulled his hand around and kissed it.

"That was amazing," she offered.

The praise made Daryl's stomach twist.

"You were amazing," Daryl offered.

"You don't have to say that," Carol said.

"Wouldn't if it weren't true," Daryl offered. "There—well, there ain't a damn thing wrong with your pussy."

"You don't know how strangely nice that is to hear," Carol offered. "You're really good at…that. At…"

"Eatin' pussy?" Daryl offered.

"It's embarrassing to say it," Carol said.

"Practice sayin' it a couple times," Daryl said. "It'll get less embarrassing."

"Only if you promise to practice doing it," Carol said.

Daryl felt her immediately tense. Of course, he tensed, too. It was an invitation for this to happen again—how many times, he wasn't sure. But it also seemed like Carol hadn't expected for it to escape her lips.

"You can take that back if you want," Daryl said. "We don't have to…not just…just because of what T…"

"We don't have to," Carol said. "But—I want to. If you want to."

Daryl sighed.

"I want to," he said.

"We should go eat breakfast," Carol said. "They'll be expecting us."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Five minutes," he said. "That's all I'm askin'. Just—stay like this for five minutes. They can wait and, besides, I already eat."


	35. Chapter 35

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! **

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"Lookin' like a fuckin' mule eatin' briars, brother," Merle mused.

The comment, rather than making Daryl want to rein in his smiling in any way, only made him smile more dramatically. Not even Merle could rain on his parade at the moment.

"You got some shit against bein' happy?" Daryl asked as he stepped carefully along the ground and followed after his brother, avoiding some of the larger downed limbs and such that littered the floor of the woods that surrounded their community.

"I knowed you since you come outta our Ma," Merle said, "an' I ain't never seen you smile so damned much for so damn long. Hell—I ain't got nothin' against it, but I gotta admit that it makes me wonder what the hell you got to make you smile so damn much. You was so late to breakfast, I was startin' to think you was dead. Then you eat a whole plate of biscuits an' bacon like a man starvin' to death, an' now you ain't quit grinnin' since we left. Somethin' stuck in your gums?"

"Just had a good morning," Daryl offered.

Merle laughed to himself.

"I'm just givin' you shit," Merle ceded. "Hell—I guess I can understand it. Got you a wife that…she ain't that bad lookin'."

Daryl didn't expect to feel struck in the gut by such a declaration. He didn't expect, either, that it would make him feel slightly offended that his brother would suggest that Carol wasn't "bad looking," as though anything about her appearance could be considered to be disappointing.

"She's better'n not fuckin' bad lookin', Merle," Daryl said.

Merle laughed again.

"Easy, brother," Merle said. "I'm sure you gonna understand if I tell you that my lil' woman might not like to know that I was sayin' good things about your lil' woman's looks. Wouldn't wanna make her jealous or make her think I was lookin' for somethin' new."

"I could fuckin' say that Andrea's a pretty woman an' it don't mean I'm tryin' to fuck her," Daryl responded.

"I guess I never really looked at your little mouse all that much," Merle said. "Mostly she was stuck up under that husband of hers when I knowed her before. Didn't hardly dare to look in her direction 'cause I figured he'd clock her a good one if I did and Shane didn't seem to keen on the idea of killin' people you thought oughta go." He laughed to himself. "Of course, with my track record in that damn group, I didn't exactly wanna introduce that precedence either. Still—now that I'm lookin' at her, and she's lookin' a whole lot different than she was back then, I could say she's pretty. You ain't done bad." He laughed quietly. "And you can get your hackles down, brother."

Daryl did feel slightly relieved by the comment, though he had no idea why. He had no real claim to Carol. She wasn't really his wife. She wasn't his woman in any way. He did think she was beautiful and, in fact, she was the most attractive woman that he'd ever seen, but he had no real reason to be offended that Merle might not agree with that feeling.

It wasn't as though there weren't going to be plenty of men that felt that way in the community. And, as a woman with a baby, the men around the community would soon start to see Carol as someone who was perfect to have as a wife. They would soon start wanting to build a family with her. She would need Daryl for cover for only as long as she didn't want to be in a relationship. As soon as she was settled, comfortable, and looking to actually build a family again, she would take her pick of the men that would make good family men—the men who were raised to be good husbands and fathers.

Unlike Andrea, she'd probably be able to tell that a Dixon didn't have too much training when it came to fulfilling either of those roles. She'd want something better and, after the husband she'd shed in Atlanta, she deserved something better.

Still, Daryl pushed the thought out of his mind because it only made his stomach ache, and he had been enjoying the euphoric feeling that had settled over him since that morning.

"She's fuckin' beautiful," Daryl grumbled, as much to himself as to Merle. His brother snorted.

"I reckon I'd be pissed off at you if you thought any different," Merle said. "You oughta treat her ass right."

"Like you ever cared before how anybody treated a woman," Daryl mused.

"I ain't never condoned the beatin' of a woman," Merle said.

"Short of that, you ain't never cared what kinda asshole behavior you engaged in when it come to women," Daryl said. "I remember some of the women you messed with. I remember how the hell you treated 'em, too."

Merle laughed to himself.

"You'd do good to remember that a lot of them was a different caliber woman, too."

"Still, you ain't cared too much about walkin' some straight and narrow path and treatin' women right," Daryl replied.

"Lotta damn things I ain't cared about before," Merle said. "But today's a new day, ain't it?"

"Read that on a calendar somewhere?" Daryl asked. "One of them inspirational ones with the rainbows and sunrises?" Merle laughed in response.

"I feel like a fuckin' inspirational calendar these days, brother. Damn near feelin' full of rainbows and sunrises myself. Hell, I won't pretend I'm not lovin' the way that things are. It's a helluva lot better'n what the hell I had before these flesh-eatin' bastards started tearin' people up. Hell—maybe we all movin' up, brother. Maybe it's our time to shine. Lookin' at'cha lil' woman, I'd say she made a pretty damn good upgrade. After what the hell that asshole your woman was married to put her through," Merle said, "I'm glad she found her a sweet one."

"Asshole," Daryl muttered when his brother winked at him and smirked. Merle had always called him the "sweet one." Sometimes he did it sincerely, and really Daryl didn't mind it all that much, but sometimes he did it just to get Daryl's goat. Even though the words didn't really bother him, his brother knew that his very tone of voice could bother Daryl if he wanted it to.

"She gotta know by now you the damn sweet one of the family," Merle offered. "It's a damn shame she lost her lil' girl, though. Didn't know the kid too much, but…she seemed like a good enough kid. Deserved better'n what Andrea told me happened to her. It ain't all bad, though. That kid of yours that'cha lil' woman's carryin' has done got her lookin' like she's tryin' to smuggle a honeydew."

Daryl smiled to himself.

He remembered the feeling of the baby as it moved beneath Carol's skin. He remembered the image of it that the doctor had projected onto her screen. The printed picture of that image was framed and Carol had placed it on the dresser in the nursery that she'd quickly assembled. The baby in question was a new life. She was a little girl in the making and Daryl hoped that she would be happy and healthy.

He hoped she'd be something of a second chance for Carol. He hadn't been able to save Sophia. He hadn't been able to find her before she'd been killed by a Walker. He hadn't been able to bring her back to Carol like he'd dreamed of doing. A good mother like Carol needed her child, after all. She deserved her child, which she clearly loved. And a good mother, like Carol, deserved to enjoy her child without the presence of an asshole like Ed. Daryl hadn't been able to save Sophia for her, but he'd already promised himself that he'd do absolutely everything in his power to see that she was able to see this little one come into the world and live the good life that her sister had been denied.

"It's a girl, Merle," Daryl offered.

"So, I heard," Merle said. "Healthy. Strong. Looks good, so Alice says. She said the kid looks real good. Wants to feed your lil' woman a lil' extra, help her build up her strength an' all. She said it's gonna take a lotta energy to bring the little thing into the world. Wants to make sure your woman's got that energy on reserve. But she says it don't look like there's nothin' gonna show up wrong with the kid if she keeps on like she's going. Glad it's you with a girl, I can't imagine what the hell I'd do with one."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Your kid might be a girl, Merle," Daryl said. "Hell—it ain't like just 'cause this one's a girl an' it's comin' first that means that you ain't gonna have one."

"What the hell would I do with a girl, brother?" Merle asked.

"Raise it right," Daryl said. "You into this turnin' your life around shit."

"You didn't miss the opportunity to point out that I been an asshole to women most my damned life," Merle said.

"Not to Andrea," Daryl said.

"Not now," Merle said. "I was an asshole to her before…"

"An' she ain't held it against you," Daryl said. "Let you put your kid in her, didn't she? Listen, Merle, I was mostly givin' you hell before. You've decided to change shit and that's good. Keep on changin' it. If you have you a daughter, then you treat her like you think she oughta be treated. You teach her about assholes like you was, so she knows to stay the fuck away from 'em until the clean up their fuckin' lives."

Merle smirked at Daryl. The corner of his mouth barely turned up.

"You think I cleaned up my life for good, brother?" Merle asked.

"Ain't you?" Daryl asked. "Because—if you fuck up an' hurt your kid? Or if you hurt Andrea at this point? I'ma be the one that beats your ass."

Merle shook his head.

"I don't wanna do that," Merle said. "And I want you to kick my ass if I do. It's just—feels good to know you think I really done it, you know? That it ain't bullshit."

"I always believed you could do whatever the hell you wanted," Daryl said. "You just had to want to come clean."

"Got a lotta shit worth livin' for now," Merle mused. "Now I'm lookin' forward to days to come instead of thinkin' it's a pain in my ass that I gotta keep on livin' them days."

Daryl hummed at his brother. There was, and never had been, any reason for either of them to be secretive with each other about how they felt about their shit-show lives. They'd grown up in the same household and they both had bad memories. There were some parts of Merle's life that Daryl knew that he didn't know about and, also, there were some parts of Daryl's life that he hadn't shared with his older brother. Everyone had their secrets. All the details didn't matter, after all. They knew more than enough to understand why it was that the both of them went through what Daryl thought of as "dark spells" when they were a little too reckless and questioned if it was even worth waking up the next day.

Those dark spells came and went. There wasn't a constant blanket of darkness that hung over either of them, but they both usually knew that the darkness would return. Daryl could rarely remember, either, a time when—even if the darkness wasn't present—the clouds had completely parted for either of them.

It seemed, though, that Merle was sincerely basking in his own type of sunshine.

And Daryl felt a warmth that he had never really felt before—even if it wasn't truly his to feel.

"Got a lot to live for," Daryl mused.

"You too, Daryl," Merle said. "My baby brother—finally becomin' a man. Got him a wife and he's done gone and sexually inflated her ass."

Daryl rolled his eyes and shook his head at his brother. Merle chuckled in response.

"Asshole," Daryl muttered. Merle simply laughed to himself again and picked up his steps. He moved away from Daryl by the two feet that were granted to him by his quickened steps.

"Right over here's what the hell I wanted to show you," Merle said. "Right down here—not twenty feet."

Daryl hadn't tracked how far they'd come from the community, but he knew it had been a pretty decent distance. Ahead of them, as they walked, there loomed another set of fences. Daryl followed Merle and waved at T-Dog when he came into sight. He waved at Michonne, too, though the woman didn't wave back. She didn't look too amused, and Daryl didn't know if it was because she didn't like being on that particular duty, or because she was already tired of her companion. He certainly wasn't going to ask T-Dog about it in front of her.

"How's it goin'?" Merle asked as they approached.

"All clear," T-Dog offered.

"Matthew said they didn't see anything through the night," Michonne said.

"Nothin' at the other gates, either," Merle said. "Stayed outta sight, though, an' said a couple animals moved back an' forth 'cross the border."

"We haven't seen anything bigger than a rabbit," Michonne offered. "But that's typical for this time of morning."

"What is all this?" Daryl asked.

"We got two sets of fences surroundin' the community proper," Merle said. "And then we got this set out here. Three gates total. One on each side an' this one on the back side. We open the gates almost all day an' night to allow animals to pass through into our huntin' grounds, but we can close off the gates if we needin' some extra protection."

Daryl had to admit that he was rather impressed by the hidden layer of security.

"What about on the road side? Didn't see these out there."

"They kinda hidden on purpose," Merle offered. "They back a ways. Don't have to run all the way to the road to be effective."

Daryl accepted that explanation.

"It's not bad for huntin'? Havin' people out here don't lessen the animal population?" Daryl asked.

"Did at first," Merle said. "For the most part we go outside these fences to hunt. There's some animals that don't care, though."

"Or they get used to us," Michonne offered. "We also put out some food inside the fences to attract them. Once they've passed by us a time or two without any trouble, they tend to act like we're just another animal. We even have deer that regularly come in and out."

"They bring friends," Merle said, clearly a little amused at how stupid some seemingly intelligent animals could be.

"So, if the Walkers out here get too heavy," Daryl said, "you can just shut yourselves in an' you got an extra layer of protection."

"Go pick 'em off," Merle said with a nod. "If they get in, they still get stopped by the other fences."

"It's good for keeping out Walkers," Michonne said. "But it's also good for keeping out people."

"Unwanted people," Merle said.

"How do you decide who's unwanted?" Daryl asked.

"There's always been somebody wants somethin' for nothin'," Merle said. "We don't do charity, here. An' we don't tolerate thieves or respond to threats."

"You got a lot of problems with that around here?" Daryl asked. "You mentioned it before."

Merle hummed at him and gestured toward the open gates that would lead them out into the land that extended beyond the set of protective gates that, until that moment, had been a secret to Daryl.

"Walk with me, brother. I'll tell you about our neighbors."


	36. Chapter 36

**AN: Here we go, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"It's isn't really a secret," Daryl said. "Everyone knows about it, but they don't talk about it much unless it becomes a problem."

"Out of sight, out of mind?" Carol asked.

"More like—it don't change a thing to talk about it," Daryl said. "Merle, though, he knows everything. He keeps an eye on everything and an ear out for everything."

"He's the leader," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed.

"You got no damn idea how—how hard it is to remember that sometimes," Daryl said.

"You'll get used to it," Carol said.

"Over there," Daryl said, interrupting the train of thought that he'd been running with since he felt like they were a fair distance away from anyone that would overhear them. "You see them squirrels playin'?"

"I'll never hit them," Carol said, shaking her head.

"Not with that defeatist damn attitude you won't," Daryl said. "You said you wanted some target practice."

"I meant with targets," Carol said. "A tin can or…"

"There's your target," Daryl said. "Three of 'em."

"Those are small, moving targets," Carol said.

"You don't never get any better if the challenge stays the same," Daryl said. Carol laughed and her laugh ended in a snort. Daryl caught the laughter. "Did you just snort?"

"It was an accident," Carol said. "But who are you? Confucius?"

Daryl put his hands on her shoulders and Carol couldn't help but smile at his expression.

"Are you gonna try or you just gonna fail 'cause you too damned chicken to try?" He goaded.

Carol sighed and nodded. Daryl steered her in the direction of the squirrels. The third of the trio seemed to have scampered off in the meantime, but two of them were running back and forth in a cluster of trees. Daryl stood by quietly and calmly while she went about preparing herself to try to shoot one of the squirrels. Her first arrow dropped so suddenly after leaving her bow that she was embarrassed and turned her face away from Daryl because she couldn't stand to see whatever disapproval was likely on his features.

"You ain't had much time to practice in the last couple days," he offered gently. "And that was just your first shot. Go ahead. Go at it again."

Carol accepted his gentle encouragement. She left the arrow for the moment and loaded a new one. She took aim, but Daryl interrupted her.

"Steady your breathin'," he offered. "It's OK. You miss the squirrel—we still gonna eat. And—ain't nobody gonna punish you."

The words struck Carol hard. It felt like she'd been punched in the throat. It hit her, like a wall of water coming from a firehose, that he was right. Daryl had realized what she hadn't fully realized herself. On an entirely subconscious level, she'd feared punishment for showing herself as less than perfect. Daryl had never harmed her, and the longer she knew him, the less she imagined him ever raising his hands to her, but the part of her that feared physical punishment wasn't rational and didn't listen to her rational explanations about what kind of man Daryl was.

And he understood that. Even without the words being exchanged between them, Carol knew that he understood that.

Carol lowered her bow for a moment. She stood working to steady herself and catch her breath. She heard Daryl walk toward her. Even at the risk of scaring the squirrels, he was purposely making noise. He wasn't trying to surprise her at all. He put a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he offered. "But—it's true. Hit the squirrel or—don't hit it. If you never hit no squirrel, not ever? Ain't nobody gonna be pissed at you. Least of all me. But you too tense. That's one reason your shootin' gets off. When you're relaxed? You aim better. Hit more of what you tryin' for. When you tense up, your arrows start to go wild or you drop 'em."

Carol nodded at him. He squeezed her shoulder affectionately again and then backed away to give her room. She raised her bow once more, focused on her breathing as Daryl suggested she should, and took aim.

She watched her arrow as it flew into the air and made a beautiful arc. She enjoyed watching its graceful movement. It was practically poetic the way that it moved through the air and toward her target. Unfortunately, it flew downward and landed in the general area of the playing squirrels—close enough to scatter them and send them both scampering quickly up different trees—but it brought neither of them down.

"You win some. You lose some," Daryl said as he went to retrieve the arrow. Carol went for the one closest to her, but she was beginning to find that simply bending over was starting to become something of a challenge. She no longer simply folded in half as she once had. Daryl retrieved both arrows before she could, and he slipped them into her quiver.

"Thank you," she said. "But you didn't have to do that. I could have gotten them."

"But you don't gotta, so there," Daryl said. He clearly thought that was all the response that was necessary.

"I'm never going to hit anything moving," Carol said, not trying to hide the defeat she felt.

Daryl laughed to himself and, taking a spot behind her, he dropped a hand onto each of her shoulders and kneaded the muscles hard. It felt so good that Carol's knees nearly buckled and she moaned out her appreciation of the simple gesture. In response, Daryl continued it for probably several minutes more than he'd intended when he started.

"Nobody's great at anything at first," he said. "You'll get there. Especially now that we know this area's pretty safe from Walkers. Still—I don't want you comin' completely alone."

"What about you?" Carol challenged.

"I don't hardly go anywhere alone," Daryl offered. "But I hear ya."

Carol's heart picked up its pace a little. Daryl did hear her. He always heard her. It seemed that when she spoke to him, he was somehow wired to hear all the little things that she didn't say. She wished, sometimes, that he could hear even more of what she didn't say, though. It would make it easier. Then, at least, he could respond to the thoughts that rushed through her mind, and she could put them to rest, once and for all, with his reaction.

She didn't dare to say anything, though.

"The communities," she said, steering him back toward what they'd been discussing before the squirrels had drawn their attention.

He started walking again and she followed him.

"I mean he says there's rarely any trouble," Daryl said. "A hands-off kinda policy. For the most part, at least. The way Alice tells it, there's always been other groups. Come from when they first got started here. Started with these government relief programs or whatever."

"So—like safe zones?" Carol asked.

"Some people was moved out to what was supposed to be safe zones," Daryl said. "At least as far as Alice knows. They lost connection and it weren't like they ever come back for nobody here. Coulda been they just took them people to wipe 'em out." Carol winced and Daryl frowned at her. He hadn't missed her expression. "I mean that probably ain't what they done, but they didn't never come back for the rest. Alice had come up here, though, with the others before the outbreak got bad. The whole idea was to cure it early on. When it got outta hand was when things started goin' crazy. They couldn't evacuate everyone. People went in waves, but a lot refused to go. Hunkered down. They was takin' people out to safer places, but she an' the others volunteered to stay until they got back."

"For like a second wave of evacuation?" Carol asked.

"Somethin' like that," Daryl said. "Decided to gather together whoever they could. Anybody that weren't out. Have 'em ready when they got back."

"But they never came back," Carol said.

"Never came back," Daryl said. "At least, though, they never dropped napalm on 'em, neither, like they done to Atlanta. Just—left 'em to live or die. Weren't no nevermind to them what happened to them they left behind. So, they broke into different factions. The ones that was left behind. Different people with different ideas about how to live in a world that, as far as they knew, didn't have no laws and no government."

"Why not just become one group?" Carol asked. "What about the whole idea of strength in numbers?"

"Don't work if you can't agree on how to run things," Daryl said. "Hell—we split from Rick and company 'cause we couldn't agree to the one for the Grimes an' all for the Grimes mentality."

"Are the other groups dangerous?" Carol asked.

"Anybody's got the potential to be dangerous," Daryl said. "Even us. Still, Merle handles most of the shit. Whoever the leader was before—he got the group into a bit of a shit-show with one of the factions around here. Started wantin' to have a bit of a pissin' contest. Merle says it works better if they're promotin' the whole idea of you stay in your sandbox and I'll stay in mine. We keep our distance. Still, from time to time he says one asshole or another will get to feelin' his Wheaties."

"They fight?" Carol asked.

"Only if they have to," Daryl said. He shrugged his shoulders. "I understand that. Hell—I'm on Merle's side with this. I'm all for peace an' the best damn way to handle anything is to try to keep a strict rule of I don't fuck with you if you don't fuck with me. But if they come over here fuckin' with me? I'ma protect me an' mine."

Carol smiled to herself. She didn't really realize that the expression actually snuck out of her mind and spread across her lips. Daryl stopped his forward progress and she halted her steps, as well, through the crunchy leaves.

"What?" He asked, the corner of his mouth curling upward.

"What? What?" Carol asked.

The smile spread just a bit more on Daryl's lips before he swallowed it back.

"That smile," he said. "What was it for?"

Carol knew she'd been caught and she felt the warmth rise up in her cheeks. She shrugged her shoulders.

"It's all just—very chivalrous," Carol said. "You're going to fight for you and yours."

"If it come to that," Daryl said. "You don't think I would?"

"I know you would," Carol said without hesitation. "It's just—it was just an image, I guess. In my mind. It's very noble. But, then, you're very noble."

"Noble ain't got nothin' to do with it," Daryl said. Carol wasn't sure if he was insulted or not. She couldn't really tell what he was going through, but there was definitely some kind of shift in his mood at the moment. He plucked a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Carol thought his hands shook slightly. She wondered what he might be dealing with that she wasn't capable of detecting. "Besides," he mumbled around the cigarette and half under his breath, "I got me a family now."

Carol's heart, which had not been entirely reined in from her earlier concern, jumped around wildly. Her breathing suddenly felt almost as labored as it had when she'd been dealing with the subconscious fear that she'd be punished, somehow, for being a disappointment to Daryl.

"And I have no doubt that you'd fight for—for Merle and…Andrea's your sister-in-law, now."

Daryl frowned at her briefly, and then seemed to develop an immediate and uncontrollable interest in something that was just off to the left of them. He looked in the direction of the something that had caught his attention and shrugged his shoulders as he took his cigarette between his fingers to free his lips for clearer speech.

"I'm a married man now," he said. "Got a kid on the way. A baby girl. I'd be…I'd fight for that. To keep that. Even if it was just—some kinda fantasy."

There was an almost hollow feeling in Carol's chest that came as a result of Daryl's words. It was an aching. A tugging sensation accompanied the hollowness. Carol swallowed, unsure of how to process the feeling.

She knew what she wanted to say to him. She knew what she wanted him to know. She knew the feelings that she'd been dealing with since that morning—the feelings that had been simultaneously warming her from the inside out and eating her alive since Daryl had left their newly acquired house. She knew that she desperately wanted him to hear her feelings.

But she didn't know how he would respond.

She didn't know if he would leave her out there in the woods to find her way back to the gates that opened to their community—if he'd leave her to stumble back on tired feet and shaky knees.

She was suddenly aware that her knees were shaking. Her whole body was shaking.

Her breathing was out of control. If he'd been paying her attention instead of paying attention to whatever it was that kept him from looking at her, he'd have noticed the shift in her breathing.

She didn't know how he would respond.

But there were some secrets she simply wasn't sure that she could stand to keep any longer.

"Daryl…" she said, her voice coming out weaker than she wanted it to. She heard her voice tremble. Her vocal cords seemed to be shaking as much as her knees were.

"Hmmm," he hummed at her, not looking in her direction. He dropped his eyes to the ground, still smoking his cigarette, but he didn't look at her.

"What if…it wasn't all fantasy?"


	37. Chapter 37

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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As Carol's words found their way inside Daryl's head, they seemed to take a sharp turn at his brain and nose dive directly down toward his stomach. They landed there, hard, and the vibration of them crashing into his gut echoed throughout his body in the form of a tension echoing out to all his extremities.

If it wasn't all a fantasy, then that left only two possibilities. Either it was nothing at all—which Daryl feared with that same icy cold fear with which he'd feared things as a child, back when he was too young to know how to pretend that he wasn't afraid—or it was real.

For the few seconds that Daryl allowed himself to contemplate such a possibility as everything he wanted suddenly, somehow, becoming reality, Daryl found himself enveloped in a warmth that wiped away the icy cold fear that had formed over imagining that Carol was seconds from telling him that she no longer wanted to play this game with him.

He realized, in those few seconds, that he wanted this—all of this—to be real more than he could remember wanting anything in his life.

He suddenly wanted it even more desperately than he'd wanted it before.

When Daryl turned to look at Carol, though, it was all wiped aside for the time being. Taking her appearance in, the one thing that he wanted was for her to be OK. She looked as though all the blood in her body had been drained out—suddenly and without him seeing what had harmed her. Daryl even quickly cast a panicked glance toward the ground to see if something had attacked her that he'd somehow missed and she was slowly bleeding out or succumbing to some fast-acting venom.

He noticed, in addition to the death-like palor, that she was shaking almost violently as she stood there, staring at him with eyes that were wide and clearly full of fear.

Daryl's first instinct was to move toward her, hand out, to catch the bow that she was holding. She let go of it as he wrapped his fingers around it and he tossed it gently to the side so that it landed in the blanket of leaves that covered the ground. She looked like she might very well go down, and he wanted to start clearing any possible hazards that would harm her if she were to suddenly drop from the rapid relocation of her blood.

Cleared of the hazard of a bow that might injure her if she fell forward on it, Daryl reached his arms out and caught her under her arms.

"Hey," he said, finding his words. When he heard his own voice, it sounded distant and foreign. It made him imagine that days had passed since either of them had spoken and he'd tried to process meaning out of the sound of human speech. "Hey—you alright? You OK?"

Carol looked at him. Her eyes were still wide.

Her eyes were big and blue. Daryl had heard people suggest that you could get lost in someone's eyes. Hers were the first that he'd ever really considered getting lost in. When she smiled, her smile went all the way to her eyes. Everything was in her eyes.

Daryl didn't like what he saw in her eyes at the moment. The fear had subsided a little, but it had been replaced with a definite dampening.

"No," she said, shaking her head.

"You wanna—sit down?" Daryl asked. "You need to sit down?"

She seemed to come into herself. A little of the color that had drained out of her face—leaving her pale and her lips almost ashy like death—started to return. Daryl felt when she curled her fingers around his arms and held to him while he held to her.

The tremors that were running from her body and into his began to calm a little.

"I don't need to sit down," Carol said. "I'm—I'm fine…"

"You said you weren't," Daryl said. "You don't look fine."

"I'm fine," Carol said. "I mean—I'm not sick, Daryl. But I do need to talk to you, and I'm not…I'm not looking forward to what…to what that might mean."

Suddenly it was Daryl that didn't feel well. He didn't let go of Carol, though, because he still didn't trust her body not to betray her. He thought it was probably best if she didn't go tumbling to the ground. He wasn't an expert on pregnant women by any means, but he had a gut feeling that throwing them around was probably something that it was better to avoid.

"Go ahead," Daryl said.

"Go ahead?" Carol asked. Daryl wasn't sure if it was sincerely a question or if she was simply repeating what he'd said, latching onto it as something to say that could stall what she needed to say for just a bit longer.

"Say what you got to say," Daryl said. "Same as before—ain't nobody gonna…nobody ain't gonna punish you for whatever the hell it is that you got to say. Even if…" Daryl stopped when his stomach clenched. He pushed through the discomfort and his own growing anxiety over the words he was preparing to hear. "Even if…it ain't what anybody wants to hear."

Carol frowned at him. The level of dampness in her eyes remained constant. He felt her fingers curl tighter into his arms where she held onto him, and it reminded him that he was still holding her.

She shook her head at him.

"I'm sorry," she said. Daryl closed his eyes to the impact of the words, but then he forced himself to look at her again so that she'd continue. She clearly needed to purge herself of whatever it was that was that was inside her at the moment, and he would allow her that so that she could have some peace—even if it stripped him of his own peace.

"It's OK," Daryl offered quietly. Carol continued to shake her head slowly from side to side.

"I thought I could do it," she said. "I thought I could—keep it up. For however long…forever, even. I thought it could just be a show and I could enjoy the parts that I enjoyed and…I could just keep it going. For whatever benefits it afforded anyone."

"You don't gotta apologize to me," Daryl said quickly.

His own anxiety began to boil inside him. He could feel it rising. He could see that Carol had found her steadiness as his own unsteadiness had grown. He dared to let go of her, then, and witnessed that she was safe on her feet. He wasn't sure, though, for just a second if she was safe in his arms. He would never hurt her—never. But that didn't mean that he trusted himself entirely not to even do something like blindly squeeze her arms as he gritted his teeth against the pain that he was sure was coming, and he knew his strength was greater than he sometimes imagined it to be.

The relationship, though it had been a fantasy, had given Daryl a few wonderful days. The few moments—when he wasn't fearing the end of it—that he'd allowed himself to feel like it was real? Those few moments had acted like a balm to his soul. Like salve on a burn, it had relieved some of the raw pain that he always felt inside him—a pain his brother had once tried to soothe with drugs and alcohol. A pain that, Daryl imagined, Andrea was soothing for Merle these days.

The feeling of those few sweet moments of relief had been wonderful, but Daryl knew the pain was coming back with a vengeance when Carol finally said the words and made it clear that it had all been little more than make believe—and even that was gone now.

But Daryl had never cared much for anticipation. He'd always preferred pain to come fast if it was coming.

"Don't tell me you're sorry," Daryl said. "Just tell me whatever the hell it is that you got to say."

"I can't keep pretending that I don't care," Carol said. "I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose—you. Your friendship. Anything. But I understand if you can't…if you don't want to." She stopped, clearly exasperated by the fact she was stumbling over her words, and tried to steady herself. Daryl's mind tried to make sense of what she was saying while also dealing with the sound of his own inner voice screaming at him that everything was coming in scrambled and indecipherable. "If it means that—you need to move or I need to move and we tell them…you can blame it on me. You can blame the whole thing on me. Just tell me what you want me to say and I'll go along with it…"

Daryl heard Carol talking. He watched her mouth moving. He heard the words tumbling out. They entered his ears and swam around in his mind. Somewhere along the way, though, he stopped making sense of what she was saying. Somehow, it started to sound like she was speaking a language that he'd never heard before.

Slowly, he picked and chose words to latch onto. They echoed over and over again in his brain. He began to drown out most of what he heard beyond the roar of his own blood in his ears.

_"I can't keep pretending that I don't care."_

The one line echoed over and over again in Daryl's mind. He latched onto it entirely. His mind repeated it back to him in an unending loop.

Had he possibly heard her correctly?

He stopped listening to the rest of her stumbling words—words that he wasn't sure were even doing her any good—and focused on those eight words.

"Stop," he finally said, his voice coming out in hoarse and desperate bark. "Stop!"

Carol did stop. She stopped abruptly and stared at him with her brow furrowed and her mouth slightly open. He felt a rush of relief at the silence that followed, ridding the air of the stumbling words she'd been spitting at him. He held his hands up in her direction to try to calm her from whatever feelings she might be dealing with at the moment.

"I got a question," Daryl said. "All I want you to say is—I just want you to say a yes or a no. Not—not nothin' else. Just a yes or a no. Can you—can you just…do that?"

"Daryl…I…" Carol started. Daryl raised his finger up, instead of his hands. Carol stopped speaking. She watched his finger like he might give her directions with it. "Yes," Carol offered, the word coming out much softer than the others.

"Good," Daryl said. "But that weren't my question."

"What…?" He raised his finger again and she stopped. She almost looked annoyed and her expression relieved Daryl's anxiety a little by sending a quick burst of amusement bubbling up inside of him. He liked the face she made when she was annoyed, but not really annoyed. He stored that piece of knowledge where he felt like he kept every useless bit of knowledge about Carol that he'd been collecting since he first knew her at the rock quarry.

"Did you say that—did I hear you right that you said—that you can't keep pretendin' that you don't care?" Daryl asked.

"Daryl…I…" Carol started. Again, though, the raising of Daryl's finger as a reminder of his request stopped her abruptly. She watched his hand. Suddenly, his stomach twisted slightly in concern when his mind suggested to him that, perhaps, Ed had trained her to respond to certain gestures.

Ed's punishment for disobedience, however, would be far greater than a simply display of irritation that Daryl might give her.

Daryl decided to ask her about it later, and he dropped his hand just in case she was responding to his signal out of some hard-learned obedience.

"Yes," Carol said.

"You care?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded her head.

"Yes," she said, holding his eyes with her own this time instead of watching his hands.

"About me?" Daryl asked.

A very slight hint of a smile curled up the corners of her mouth.

"Yes," she said.

"Like that?" Daryl asked. "Like—like what we was pretendin'?"

"Yes," Carol said, seeming to back a away just a little from her own confession—or maybe she was backing away from Daryl.

"You want it—you sayin' that you'd like it to…you want it to stop entirely?" Daryl asked. He knew—he felt—that wasn't what she wanted at all. His gut, however, demanded that he make her say it in a way that erased all doubt.

"No," Carol said.

"You want it—to be real?" Daryl asked.

"Yes," Carol said.

Daryl felt a little lightheaded. For just a moment, something sparkled in front of his vision. It was the most amazing feeling possible, though.

He heard the laugh that escaped him, though he hadn't been entirely aware that was how his body would react.

He stepped forward and touched her face. He ran his fingers over her cheek and she leaned her face into his hand. She looked at him and his heart thumped harder in his chest. The fear was gone. The sadness was gone. Her big, blue eyes were smiling at him.

"Daryl…" she said softly, "am I allowed to…say anything besides yes or no?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He flexed his fingers again to feel the softness of her face and then he let them trail around to the back of her neck to hold her there. She stiffened for a fraction of a second—perhaps a reaction to having someone's hand so close to her throat—and then she relaxed.

"You can say whatever the hell you want," Daryl said. "As long as you don't take back none of what the hell you done said."

She smiled softly.

"You still haven't told me how you feel or—what you think," Carol said.

Daryl looked at her lips. Their color was back. The ashen paleness of before was gone. She looked healthy again. She looked radiant, really. More beautiful than he'd ever seen her.

"Not real good with words," he offered.

So, instead of saying what he was sure he'd stumble over even more than she'd stumbled over the chain of words she'd spat at him earlier, Daryl said what he had to say by bringing his lips to hers.

This time, it wasn't practice—and he kissed her exactly the way he wanted. Exactly the way he dreamed of kissing her if he ever knew she really wanted such a thing.


	38. Chapter 38

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!**

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Carol was almost breathless when the kiss finally broke. She hadn't wanted to pull away from Daryl. She hadn't wanted to risk breaking the magic of the moment just to find out that she'd somehow dreamed the whole thing.

When the kiss broke, Daryl's hands had migrated down her body and were holding her tightly around the hips—tightly enough that the places where his fingers dug into her skin felt almost painful, but she appreciated the fact that it reminded her that this was real. This was absolutely real. She sucked clean air into her lungs—the afternoon suddenly feeling so much more pleasant and crisp than it had before—and she dared to look at Daryl's face. He stared at her like he imagined that she might somehow vanish if he were to move his hands.

Carol smiled at the slightly concerned expression on his face.

"Does that mean you…care about me, too?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed to himself. It was a breathy laugh and Carol wondered if he'd been holding his breath.

"Yes or no answers?" He asked. Carol nodded. "Yeah."

"You care about me like—what we've been pretending?" Carol asked.

"Since—long as I've known you," Daryl said. "Shit—that weren't yes or no."

Carol smiled at him.

"I don't care," she said.

"I wanted to break Ed's fuckin' neck," Daryl said. His words came out hard and fast like water coming out of a hose that had been cricked for a long time before someone loosened the obstruction. "I wanted to find Sophia. Give her back to you."

"You threatened Rick with a knife," Carol said. She laughed to herself. She didn't think it was funny exactly, but she felt overwhelmed with the reality of the moment. She felt overwhelmed with the idea that—in hindsight—Daryl had always cared. All the little things that she'd told herself were imagined were, perhaps, not quite as imagined as she had thought. He'd always cared for her far more than she would have ever dared to imagine.

"I threatened Rick with a knife," Daryl said, laughing to himself. "I meant it, too."

"I—I've cared about you since…I don't know when," Carol said. "Since…Sophia…you were so…noble…and I just..."

Daryl had let his hands drop from Carol's side, but he brought them up again and touched her once more. This time he brushed his hands down her shoulders and squeezed her arms. Then he brought his hands up to touch her face again like he had before he'd begun the kiss. Then he let them trail down her back like they had during the kiss.

Carol smiled to herself and closed her eyes.

"Daryl?"

"Hmmm?"

"Are you—serious?" She asked, feeling like she needed to hear it once more. She needed to be sure. Her insecurity throbbed in her brain and told her that she was, somehow, imagining everything. She'd heard him entirely wrong. Maybe, even, this was some kind of trick. "You…really care about me. You really mean that?"

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I really mean it."

Daryl continued to touch her, and Carol's pulse picked up a half a beat more. He'd confirmed it—and if she listened carefully, with more than her ears, his every touch confirmed it again. He was simply seeking places and reasons to touch her. He was seeking connection with her. His touches—although slightly erratic and unpredictable—were tender and appreciative. She would have gladly stood in the woods and let Daryl run his hands up and down her arms for hours if that made him happy. She never would have imagined that such a simple touch would make her feel so greatly appreciated.

She couldn't recall the last time she'd been touched so tenderly.

"I'ma kiss you again," Daryl warned.

Carol smiled. She didn't open her eyes. She didn't want to open them.

"You don't have to warn me every time," Carol said. "You just—have my permission."

"Whenever I want?" Daryl asked.

Carol hummed at him. There was innocence behind the question that moved her. There was awe behind it, as well, that moved her in an entirely different manner.

"Whenever you want," Carol said. "The more—the better, though, if I'm allowed to make demands."

Daryl laughed quietly.

"You can make any demands you want," he said.

When Daryl brought his lips to hers, Carol moved toward him. She found his arms easily because his hands had settled once more on her hips. She squeezed his arms in her hands and met his kiss as enthusiastically as she was able.

Like a Jack-in-the-Box with a faulty lid, Carol's insecurity surged up within her breast again. She did her best to push it back down. Still, she thought she might cry over the storm created inside of her as her insecurity collided with Daryl's reassurances that were still practically ringing in the air around her. No matter how much she struggled to remove all the negative feelings from her mind, she still felt some lingering disbelief over the fact that Daryl was actually kissing her because he wanted to kiss her. He had admitted he cared for her and, more than that, he was making her feel like he was sincere. She believed him, and yet she almost found it impossible to believe him.

Part of her mind reminded her that she should tell him all the reasons he was wrong to care—all the reasons he was wrong to even want to kiss her. The other part of her mind, however, urged her not to speak and, instead, to simply enjoy this moment that felt, to her, like something entirely out of the pages of a fairy tale.

When Daryl decided he'd had enough of her lips again, he broke the kiss. For a split second, Carol's stomach rose and dropped as she feared that he would suddenly come to his senses. The spell would surely be broken this time and he would run, as fast as he could, away from her and away from what he'd done.

He didn't run. Instead, when she opened her eyes to him, he smiled. It was a sincere smile, even though it was the crooked smile that Daryl had—a smile which turned up the corners of his lips on one side.

"Does this mean—you ain't gonna move outta the house?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled.

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. "Besides—I already set up the nursery."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her.

"You got a point. Then, does this mean you ain't gonna make me move?" He asked.

Carol heard the slight hint of teasing in his voice.

"I would be mad if you did," Carol said.

Suddenly, Daryl looked like he'd been splashed in the face with ice water. The smile left his features. It was replaced with a slight expression of panic or worry.

"I've never done anything like this before," Daryl said. He shook his head. The teasing was gone from his voice. He was being entirely sincere. "I don't know how to be married or—even serious about nobody. I got no idea how to…how to do any of it. I really ain't no kinda husband."

"You were doing pretty well before," Carol offered softly. Something about sensing Daryl's insecurity made her feel a little stronger and a little steadier. She needed to comfort him. Her insecurity suddenly didn't seem quite as important. "When you were just pretending."

"That's the thing," Daryl said. "I was pretendin' we were together, but the rest? I weren't pretending."

"Then—maybe we just keep doing what we were doing?" Carol asked. "Maybe—it doesn't have to change that much. Maybe it just stays the same— like what we were doing."

"Does this mean we're—what are we?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow.

"I think we can be whatever we want to be," Carol said. She looked around. They were in the woods outside of the community. The world that they'd known before had practically ceased to exist. They were, for all intents and purposes, in a world that defied definition. "Nothing is really what it used to be. What do you want us to be, Daryl?"

"What do you want us to be?" Daryl asked. "I don't think I'm alone in this, am I? Shouldn't you have some kinda say?"

Carol didn't want to put words in his mouth and, at the moment, she wondered if trying to find words was simply too much for him. He seemed a little overwhelmed. If it was words that made Daryl feel overwhelmed, they could do without words. She understood how he felt. She, too, felt overwhelmed. It was impossible for her to speak for him, but she still felt the dull fog of disbelief over hearing that he felt for her the way that she felt for him—that he would admit he'd had these feelings for quite some time.

If he was going through something similar, and the idea of putting labels on feelings and relationships was overwhelming, they didn't need labels.

Carol didn't need words—not when she had feelings and actions.

"We don't have to decide right now," Carol said, offering Daryl some reassurance through the touch of squeezing his arms with her fingers and massaging his muscles. "What we call ourselves—it doesn't really matter. We don't even have to decide today. We can decide later. We can just be…us. We can just—keep being what we were. Keep doing what we were doing. We can take our time deciding what we are and what we're going to call it."

"Keep pretending?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled and shrugged her shoulders.

"Except—we won't be pretending," Carol said. "Not entirely. "The name may be pretend—until we know what we want—but our feelings don't have to be. Not anymore. Besides—we can't really tell your brother that we've been lying to him since we got here. So, just the same as before, our circumstances will still be our little secret, but…at least, now, we'll both know our feelings."

Daryl chewed on that a moment and then nodded his head. He seemed to relax a little. The visible stress in his features faded. Carol felt herself relaxing with him. In the moment, with so much coming down on both of them at once, putting a name to things was too much. Continuing on as they were, though, without trying to find a label for everything was easy.

It was giving something a name, sometimes, that made it much more complicated than it had to be.

And there was time for that once both of them had overcome the dizzying reality of the moment.

"We ought to tell T," Daryl said.

"What do we tell him?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"You're right," Daryl said. "I guess—he don't need to know more'n he knows right now. It's not like it changes nothin' for him. We'll just keep it between us for now."

"Is that OK with you?" Carol asked. "We can tell anyone you want to. I just thought it might complicate things…"

Daryl smiled at her, the side of his mouth curling upward again. There was something a little devilish in his smile and Carol was happy to see it.

"Tell 'em or don't tell 'em," he said. "The only thing I wanna know is—either one of us movin' outta the house?"

Carol shook her head.

"I don't think so," she said.

"Either one of us movin' outta the room?" Daryl asked.

Carol laughed to herself.

"Not if you don't want to," she said.

"Either one of us movin' outta—the bed?" Daryl asked.

"I hope not," Carol admitted.

"OK," Daryl said.

"Any more questions?" Carol asked, laughing to herself.

"Plenty," Daryl said. "But they'll keep for now. If none of that changes, though, then I don't care if we tell or we don't."

"It can just be our little secret for now," Carol offered. "But—I do have a question for you…"

Daryl looked suddenly a little worried and it amused Carol more than it should. She'd never been able to worry a man with just the acknowledgement that she wanted to ask him something. She'd never been with a man who cared that much about her approval or disapproval.

She slipped her hands into Daryl's and he wrapped his fingers around hers.

"I was so…well…I was so…preoccupied, that I could hardly eat any breakfast," Carol said.

"I know it," Daryl said.

"So—did you want to eat lunch with me?" Carol asked.

Daryl's concern was immediately alleviated and he smiled. This time, his smile seemed to take over most of his face.

"And after that, we're comin' back out here for target practice," Daryl said. "No damn wonder you ain't hit nothin'—can't nobody aim for shit when they're starvin' to death."


	39. Chapter 39

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl's heart hadn't stopped beating hard since Carol had asked him to imagine that everything they'd been living, since arriving at the community, wasn't fantasy at all. He could feel something of an irregularity in the beats as his chest slightly ached, adapting to the fact that he might spend a significant amount of time running on adrenaline.

He was embarrassingly afraid that it was all a dream. He was afraid that he wouldn't know what to do with it if it were real. He was afraid that it would take less than twenty-four hours of fantasy-turned-reality before Carol was ready to abandon ship.

He was so nervous that he could feel the involuntary tightening of muscles in his hands and fingers, and they trembled slightly.

He never expected that a woman of Carol's delicate size and stature could unnerve him quite so completely.

But if she noticed his fear, she didn't mention it. And he repaid the favor by not mentioning the slightly wild look that had crept it in around her eyes—a look that made it seem like she was afraid that something would jump out of somewhere and knock her to the ground.

If she could feel his trembling when he put his arm around her, she didn't mention it. She let him walk with her, hugged to him, to the main cabin where they were served meals.

Daryl didn't know how to be a good husband. The only real images of good husbands that he had were those that came from television shows and movies—most of them old—that he'd seen whenever he and Merle had television. Those images, realistically, weren't very reliable. Their problems were wrapped up in two hours at the most, and their moments were always big moments. They weren't small moments—they didn't teach him how to take his wife to breakfast every day.

All that he'd ever seen in his real life were examples, really, of what the hell he shouldn't be as a husband. His father had taught him everything he never wanted to do to a woman or to children. Ed Peletier had taught him what cruelty toward Carol and her child would look like. He knew what breaking people looked like—physically and emotionally. He knew what oppression, threats, and brutality looked like in real life. He knew, from watching the outside of Rick and Shane's little situation with Lori, what insecurity and jealousy looked like.

He was limited, though, on what tenderness really looked like—and he felt, in his gut, that he wanted that most of all. He wanted to experience it himself, and he wanted Carol to experience it.

But he wasn't even sure, yet, what this relationship was. He wasn't sure what they would call themselves when nobody was listening. Was Carol prepared to be married to him? It seemed so final when she didn't even know what he had to offer—or didn't have to offer. She couldn't truly fathom the train wreck that he could be because he'd never allowed anyone to see it all—not even his brother.

At the moment, though, she didn't seem too scared of what he didn't have to offer or the damage that he would bring to the table. At the moment, she seemed a little timid, but Daryl got the distinct feeling that it wasn't his presence that she feared.

At the door, he opened the door for Carol to pass inside. That was what a gentleman would do, and he intended to do his best to be a gentleman. She deserved that, after all. There were people already eating lunch. They were at the late end of things, from the looks of it. Some people were starting to leave. Still, others were clearly just settling down, so Daryl doubted they'd inconvenience those preparing and serving the food too much. Daryl scanned the room for familiar faces, but he knew nobody in the main room of the mess hall area. They knew relatively few people in the community with more than a quick and passing knowledge, so it wasn't really any great surprise that they wouldn't know anybody gathered there.

Daryl gestured to a table by the window—happy with the idea of sunlight and a chance to see out while they ate—and Carol followed his suggestion silently. He was already half seated, and Carol was entirely in her seat, when it dawned on him that a gentleman—if that was truly what he was going to aspire to be—would have pulled his wife's chair out for her to sit. He stood, his body almost acting outside of his control, to remedy the situation. He had straightened before he realized what he was doing and came to terms with the fact that there was no way to fix this except for to ask Carol to stand again so that he could pull her chair out—and that was a waste of energy. He felt his face run warm as he sat again and he fought the instinct to simply leave the room and seek some fresh air.

Across the table, Carol looked at him with a furrowed brow.

"Is everything—OK?" She asked. She sounded like she feared the answer and the slight quiver in her voice untangled a few of the knots in his chest.

Daryl cleared his throat.

"I wanted to pull your chair out," he said.

"Oh," Carol said. She immediately started to stand, stammering out her apology. "I'm—sorry. I didn't' realize…" Daryl reached across the table and caught her hand to stop her before she'd gotten to her feet.

"It's OK," he said. "Sit. I didn't think about it until you were sitting. I just—I know I shoulda…you know…pulled it out. Your chair, I mean. Jesus..."

Carol giggled quietly, a full smile taking over her face, and Daryl's heart changed its rhythm and his stomach fluttered. He was more thankful for her laughing at him than he could have voiced. She reached her hand over and touched his hand.

"You're really—nervous," she said quietly.

"Stop it," Daryl said. He shook his head at her.

"No," Carol said. "It's OK. I'm—nervous, too."

"Stop," Daryl said, looking around. Nobody was paying them any attention. Even the three people who were serving and refilling things hadn't gotten to them yet.

Carol continued to smile at him. He told her to stop, but honestly, he wasn't fully feeling his own command. He liked the smile and he didn't really mind the gentle teasing. At least it was a distraction from the anxiety that had been chewing up his stomach lining.

"It's OK," she assured him softly.

Daryl chewed his lip. He pulled his hand back and scratched at a place on the table where the fake wood grain had chipped and was starting to peel. He scratched it, widening the spot.

"I don't know what—I ought to do. I know what I want to do, but not really... I wanted to pull your chair out. I didn't think about it, though, until you sat down."

Carol giggled again, but she covered it over by putting her hand over her face. Then she relaxed into supporting her face in her hand with her elbow propped on the table. She looked around them, every bit as aware as Daryl was that they were surrounded by people, yet still quite by themselves. They didn't know these people yet, and these people didn't know them. They shot glances at them and tried to read them. They tried to decide if they wanted to know them and how they might go about crossing the line to meet them. But, for just a moment, nobody on either side of the divide was attempting to cross that line. They focused, instead, on their meals and the people in front of them.

"I lived for almost fifteen years with a man who didn't pull my chair out," Carol offered.

"You'll understand if I say that ain't exactly who I strive to emulate," Daryl muttered.

"Emulate," Carol mused. She narrowed her eyes and smiled at Daryl when he narrowed his eyes at her. "Fancy word," she offered, pursing her lips slightly at him afterwards in an attempt to hold back her smile.

"I can read," Daryl said. "I'm literate—there's another fancy word for you."

Carol laughed.

"I know you can," Carol said with a sigh. "You're one of the smartest people I've ever known. So—you'll also know that I was teasing." Very suddenly her expression went quite serious. "Or—am I not allowed to tease you?"

"No—you are, I mean. I just…wanna make sure you know…"

Carol smiled at him.

"That you're one of the smartest people I've ever known? I know…"

They were interrupted when one of the serving people—a young man—stepped up to the table and offered them two glasses and a pitcher of water. Daryl almost welcomed the interruption because it would change the subject and too much praise had a way of making him uncomfortable.

"What's on the menu?" Daryl asked.

"Deer roast," the young man offered. "It's real good."

"Sounds good," Carol said. She sat back in her chair and laughed to herself, rubbing her hand over her belly. "Just the mention made my stomach growl."

"I know we're all equal here and—there ain't no favorites," Daryl offered to the boy before he could go trotting off to finish the job that was likely assigned to him, "but—you can prob'ly see she's got a kid and…well…that mighta been the deer I shot this mornin' when I was out with my brother…so can you maybe make sure she gets like a good helpin'?"

"Daryl…" Carol offered.

The boy cut her off, though. He smiled and laughed to himself. Maybe he'd been nervous that Daryl was going to ask him something he couldn't do, because he looked relieved.

"You're Mr. Dixon's brother," the boy offered. Daryl felt a little taken aback to hear his brother spoken of in such a respectful manner. Daryl nodded.

"I'm Merle's brother," Daryl said. "Daryl."

"Mr. Dixon, too, I guess," the boy offered. Daryl nodded his head and the boy smiled at Carol. "No worries. Mrs. Dixon will get a good helping. It's standard practice. The mamas-to-be get as much as they can eat. And—thanks for the deer. It would have been rabbit again if you hadn't brought it in."

"Thanks," Daryl stammered. "And—you're welcome. Gotta eat."

Carol offered a thanks as well before the boy went off to continue his work. When Daryl looked back at Carol, she was smiling at him.

"Everyone appreciates your deer," she said.

"Everyone appreciates food," Daryl said. "Did it—bother you?"

"That you asked about the food?" Carol asked.

"No," Daryl said. "I mean—yeah, that too. But—that he called you Mrs. Dixon?"

"I don't want to be Lori," Carol said, "taking food from everyone else."

"It ain't like that," Daryl said. "That deer I got? Weighed easy a hundred and twenty or thirty pounds. Oughta go around a bit."

"Even our group before could tear a deer apart," Carol offered. "And it seemed like—we'd still end up coming up short. Going without."

"All we was eatin' was the deer most the time," Daryl said. "Nothin' else to stretch it. We don't gotta live on meat alone here. Don't worry—askin' that you get a full plate ain't gonna starve this place into the ground. You seen them gardens and the greenhouses."

"I kind of liked it," Carol said after a beat of silence.

"Me askin' for food?" Daryl asked, furrowing his brow at her.

"Yes and no," Carol said. "Being called Mrs. Dixon. I kind of liked it. Did it—bother you?"

Daryl's stomach fluttered as he thought about it. The words had made his stomach do the odd little dance, but he'd liked hearing them. He only wished they were actually true. He thought about telling Carol that, but he honestly felt like it was too much to say at the moment. It was too much, too soon, especially when he still hadn't learned to remember things like pulling out a chair.

He would tell her later. It would keep for a while.

For now, she only needed to know that he didn't mind the words—not that he ached for them to be true.

"I didn't mind it," Daryl offered. "Liked it."

"Excuse me…"

Daryl jumped. They hadn't said anything that the girl who appeared at their table could have understood—at least not in the amount of time that she would have been standing there, especially since she'd been flitting around the room at the speed of a hummingbird earlier. Still, he felt a slight feeling of embarrassment that anyone might approach them while he was having such deep thoughts—even if Carol wasn't fully aware of them.

He sat back, and Carol did too, so as to not crowd the small table. The girl put their deep bowls down and said she hoped they had a good meal. As she stepped away, their thanks had barely dissipated into the air when her helper appeared and dropped a basket of thick bread slices on the table with the same offer of wishes for a good meal before she darted away after her work companion.

"Enjoy it," Daryl said. He cleared his throat and unrolled his silverware from the cloth napkin it was bound in. He pushed the bread basket toward Carol. "Eat it all. She—uh—she needs it. You gotta eat it."

Carol smiled to herself. She unrolled her own silverware and she tasted the food. She gave a satisfied hum and Daryl watched her a moment before he even tasted his own food.

"Good?" He asked.

"You aren't going to eat it?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said, dipping his spoon into the food that looked much like deer meat stew. It was loaded with meat and vegetables and served over rice. It smelled incredible. He was honest, though, when he looked back at Carol and smiled to himself to find her watching him. "I'd almost rather watch you eat it, though," he admitted. He cleared his throat again. It kept feeling like it was scratchy and closing up. "I weren't lyin', though. I don't know what the hell I'm doin'…"

"I liked it," Carol said. "When you ordered the food. I liked it, too, when you—ordered for me and you…fed me."

Daryl's face ran warm again. The air, he was certain, was somehow not as oxygen rich as it should have been. Maybe it was the mountain air. Maybe it was thin at this altitude and at this time of year. It was plaguing him this day, in particular, and he was finding it difficult to breathe.

"You liked it?"

Carol hummed in response and chewed more of her food.

"Made me feel—provided for," Carol said. "Cared for."

Her cheeks were pink with her admission. Daryl didn't expect the sensation that ran through his body, though. He didn't expect to feel everywhere from his chest to his dick. The aforementioned organ seemed to have a particular interest, all of a sudden, in providing things. Daryl shifted and did his best to ignore it.

He wanted her to feel everything good—and the organ reminded him how much he truly wanted her to feel everything—and he wanted to be the one to create those feelings for her. Just imaging her feeling all good things, really, filled him with more sensations than he'd ever felt before.

He didn't know how to tell her all that, though. He didn't know how to say everything he wanted to make her feel—everything he wanted to watch her feel. Maybe he'd find the words for it later.

Instead, he reached his hand across the table and took the spoon from her hand. She looked at him, surprised, but she relinquished the object. He dipped it into her bowl and fished around until he was pleased with the balance of vegetables and meat on the dripping spoon. And then he offered it to her.

She looked around nervously. She smiled to herself.

"There are people in here," Carol said, her voice lower than before. "They might be watching."

Daryl pushed the spoon toward her.

"All they gonna see is…" He hesitated a second. Then, he decided to press on. "All they gonna see is Mr. Dixon offerin' Mrs. Dixon a bite to eat. Feedin'…feedin' my wife. My…your…the baby. Providing."

Daryl didn't know if Carol was finding the air as difficult to breathe as he was, but she accepted the spoon full of food and gave a satisfied smile as she chewed it. The feelings ran around inside Daryl's body, the same as before, hitting what felt like every nerve ending in his body and waking them up.

Maybe he'd find words to tell her everything he felt later, but for now they would keep.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone looking at them. He saw a smile on the woman's face. He swallowed and did his best to ignore the presence of those around them. He focused, instead, on Carol's pink cheeks and half-crooked smile.

He dipped the spoon in the bowl again and fished until he was pleased with the distribution of meat and vegetables.

This time, she didn't protest at all. Instead, smiling as she chewed through her own food, she took his spoon.

Daryl laughed at her.

"What?" She asked. "What's good for me—might be good for you."

"Stop," Daryl warned, pushing another spoonful of stew toward her. "Put this in your mouth…"

"That might be good for you, too," she teased, crooking her eyebrow at him, her voice barely a whisper.

"Stop," Daryl warned again. He knew it hadn't been loud enough for anyone else to hear them. Still, he couldn't pretend that the whole of his body hadn't heard her, and her somewhat devilish smile told him that his body's reaction to the words wasn't exactly a secret.


	40. Chapter 40

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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This time, when Daryl practically wrapped himself around her to readjust her grip on the bow, Carol couldn't help but feel that he was more interested in being as close to her as nature actually allowed than he was in simply making sure that her form was correct and not "lazy" as he sometimes accused her form of being when she was too tired or simply tried to shoot too quickly.

She could feel his body behind hers, pressing against her, and it felt like they were connected from shoulder to knee, practically.

Her body buzzed in response and she felt a warm rush in her veins. For a second, she felt oddly bonded to Daryl. Connected. She felt like she was in the safest, warmest, most wonderful place and position that she had ever been in before.

And yet she was standing in the woods with Daryl half wrapped around her while she held her bow, ready to release a bolt in the direction of a fake target on the ground that Daryl had made with a circle of broken sticks.

Against everything that went with learning to aim properly and to make her mark, Carol closed her eyes for a fraction of a second and simply drank in the comfort of the moment. The baby in her belly must have benefitted, in some way, from the rush of feeling that ran through Carol's body. She felt her move dramatically, readjusting herself in the small confines of her womb.

"Oh…" Carol said, the sound escaping her lips before she realized she was going to verbalize it.

"What?" Daryl asked. His voice was saturated with concern. He asked the question in such a way that Carol could practically imagine that he expected the answer to be something along the lines of her admission that she'd just been bitten by a poisonous snake and had only seconds to live.

The concern made Carol feel even better. It made the back of her throat ache, but in a good way. It made her a little less concerned that Daryl was going to change his mind about the whole thing, declare it far too overwhelming, and just run away. It might still prove to be too much for him, but at least, for a moment, he was trying to hold onto whatever it was that they had between them.

Without responding to him, Carol pulled back on the bowstring the last little fraction of an inch that she meant to move it. She focused on her target, exhaled her breath and stilled it, and released the arrow. It sailed beautifully—perfectly—through the air and landed smoothly, sticking itself into the ground, just at the outside part of her target.

She laughed to herself and lowered her bow. She ran her hand over her belly. The baby was kicking or stretching—whatever her movement, it was dramatic.

Carol turned around to face Daryl. She felt light and warm and happy for the moment, but Daryl's brow was furrowed and he looked like he was drowning in worry.

"Always on the outside of where I'm aiming," Carol said. "I try to correct it and I just seem to overcorrect it and go in a different direction."

"It don't matter," Daryl said. "You'll keep tryin'. Keep gettin' a feel for it. Learnin' what's enough an' what's too much, but…are you OK?"

Carol remembered that she never comforted him over the sound that had escaped her lips. Rather than simply tell him that her daughter was doing summersaults in her womb, Carol took Daryl's hand and pressed it over a spot where she was sure he'd feel some of the movement. He pulled his hand back almost immediately after she placed it, but then he returned his hand—and then he added his other hand.

"That hurts," he said. He was clearly neither dedicated to making it a question for Carol to answer nor a statement of his assessment of what it might be like to be carrying the baby.

Carol hummed at him.

"It's a little uncomfortable, especially if she—moves a certain way. But more than that, it's wonderful because I know she's moving so she's…"

"OK," Daryl supplied, in the same tone as before, allowing it to be neither fully question nor statement.

"Alive, at least," Carol breathed out.

"What's she doin'?" Daryl asked after a moment.

"Moving," Carol said. The truth was that she had no real insight into what the baby might actually be doing. Daryl seemed to want something more concrete, though, as he moved his hands around her belly searching out the movements that he could detect. Carol didn't ask him to stop. In fact, she enjoyed the feeling of his palms travelling around her stomach.

Ed had never had any real interest in Sophia when Carol had been carrying her; not beyond the occasional spurt of strange fatherly interest that seemed to hit him when he'd had a few drinks but hadn't yet crossed over into being drunk. When he acted that way, though, rather than relishing the tenderness of the moment, Carol usually felt practically swallowed up in anxiety as she worried that the interest in the baby might later mean an interest in harming it in some way.

When Daryl touched her, though, she didn't feel anxiety. And the realization that she could be touched without immediately feeling an icy rush of concern only made her stomach flutter with an unusual sensation that only made her daughter's movements increase.

Daryl's hands were every bit as strong and hard as Ed's, but under them she felt protected. She wasn't afraid.

The only thing she feared, perhaps, was that he would withdraw his hands, one day, and never return them to her body because he'd changed his mind. He'd found something better. Daryl was new to relationships. He was new to all of this. There was no reason to believe that he wouldn't realize, eventually, that there were far better women and situations to be had, even within the community. Maybe he might even realize that he simply didn't want this at all.

She pushed the twinge of discomfort such a thought brought to her out of her mind. She must have done it just in time, too, because Daryl's brow furrowed at her. He dropped his hands in a slightly jerky motion. He brought one up to trouble the cuticle with his front teeth.

"You OK?" He asked around the finger he was harassing.

Carol knew, very well, that the answer to his question couldn't be that she was afraid that he was going to change his mind—that maybe he was already changing his mind. It could very well be that the reality of everything hadn't sunk in for him yet, but it would soon enough. She was carrying a baby. If she was lucky, and her daughter managed to live despite the unfortunate fates of the other babies born there, from what she'd heard—all having been miscarriages, stillbirths, or babies that died within hours of being born because of poor health—she would have a baby in just a few months.

A baby was too much, even, for some fathers. A baby was too much when it was their own flesh and blood.

It was too much to ask a man like Daryl to even somewhat shoulder that responsibility. It was too overwhelming. Carol was certain that he hadn't even realized the full impact of her pregnancy yet, and he certainly didn't realize what life would be like once her daughter was in the world, but she didn't really want to tell him. Not yet.

She would let him go when he realized how much work and responsibility came with a baby. She'd let him go when he realized that wasn't what he wanted at all. But she wasn't ready to let him go just yet.

"She just—moves a lot," Carol said. She felt a slight rush of relief when she realized that what she was about to say wasn't entirely a lie. The concern she was about to express to Daryl wasn't the immediate and gnawing concern that was really overtaking her at the moment, but it was a concern nonetheless. It had crossed her mind more than a few times lately, even though she hadn't given it voice. "She's been moving a lot—but a lot—since we got here. Way more than out there. More than—I don't really remember—but I think more than Sophia ever did."

Daryl's brows had started to unknit themselves and now they dived back down to practically tangle into each other again.

"That bad?" Daryl asked.

"I don't know," Carol admitted. She shrugged her shoulders. "I didn't have the greatest prenatal care with Sophia. I went to the doctor but—I skipped a lot of appointments. I did whatever I could not to…" She stopped a moment as the words "draw attention to the baby" pinballed in her mind. Her gut slowly reminded her that she was trying to do that now. She was trying to do it again. This time it was for an entirely different reason. This time it was for a good reason. It was borne from fear, again, but it was a different fear, and so she told herself it was a noble fear that Daryl didn't need to know about. Still, if she were trying not to draw attention, she was failing at that. Daryl, though, didn't seem to fear her pregnancy. He didn't seem too repulsed by it like Ed had been sometimes. She needed only to keep Daryl from realizing how much truly came with having a baby—the pregnancy he seemed able to handle for the time being.

"Not to?" Daryl asked. Carol realized she'd stopped short and, in all her stewing, she'd just left her words hanging there. "You OK? She OK?"

Carol couldn't help but smile to herself.

"I tried not to go," Carol said. "Not to be—annoying or…anything. So that…"

"Ed," Daryl said, as though the name could finish the entire conversation. Actually, Carol realized it did finish most of it. She nodded her head. "Is it bad she's movin'? Dangerous?"

"She could be rolling or stretching or…I don't know," Carol said.

"Or you're thinkin' it could be somethin' bad?" Daryl asked.

"I doubt it, but…I just don't know and it's different," Carol admitted. She hadn't even realized she was the slightest bit concerned, but now that she was saying it, she was realizing it was true.

Daryl nodded his head. He seemed to genuinely consider what she'd said.

"Fine—I'ma grab them bolts an' we gonna go talk to that Alice woman," Daryl said.

"I don't want to bother her with something that's—that I'm sure is nothing," Carol said.

"But you gonna rest better when you know it's nothin'," Daryl said. "Me too. So, we gonna go."

"I don't want to bother her with something ridiculous," Carol protested.

"Merle says the doctors earn their keep by workin' when somebody needs it. Blessed fuckin' existence. Don't do shit else an' live like royalty. Don't fight; don't go out; protected all the time. Deal is, they on call every hour an' there ain't no thorn too small for 'em to deal with."

"I wanted to practice," Carol said. Daryl was already gathering up her arrows and kicking around the little targets he'd made to blend them back into the landscape as nothing more than scattered bits of sticks and rocks.

"You got the whole day tomorrow to practice if you want to," Daryl said. "Today—you done your work at the greenhouse this morning. I got that deer. Let's just—take her to see Alice and then…I ain't even told you about what Merle told me. We can go back to our house. I can tell you about—about what Merle told me."

Carol smiled at him when he straightened up and, wiping her arrows off on his shirt, reached for the quiver to replace them.

"What?" He asked, noticing her smiling.

"Are you asking me to spend the afternoon—the evening—with you?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged.

"If you ain't got other plans," he said.

Carol smiled even a little more sincerely because a hint of a smile made the corners of his mouth jump.

"You want to spend a quiet evening—at home—with me?" Carol asked. Her heart thundered. Her daughter gave her a good, hard kick in the ribs for her teasing. It took Carol's breath for half a second and she laughed to herself and held the hand up in Daryl's direction that she wasn't using to cover the spot near where the kick had landed. "I'm fine—I think she's taking up for you. For me giving you a hard time."

Daryl smiled like that truly amused him.

"I never spent a lot of evenings at home if I could avoid it," Daryl said. "And most the ones I did spend weren't too damn quiet. Weren't too good, either."

Carol stepped closer to him and offered him a kiss. He seemed to hesitate, almost like he feared she would admit she was psyching him out and move away when he went in for it, but then he kissed her. She didn't psych him out at all. She didn't even pull away to stop the kiss. She let him handle it, from start to finish. She smiled at him, though, when he broke the kiss and smiled at her.

She was pulled as tightly against him as she could possibly be and his hands were holding her hard with his fingers digging into her hips like she might escape.

"She's kickin' me," Daryl offered.

"I know," Carol said, laughing to herself.

"You think she likes it or…you think she's like signaling for help?" Daryl asked.

"I hope she likes it," Carol said.

"Come on," Daryl said, shouldering her quiver himself and taking her bow. He dropped his free hand around her shoulder to urge her to walk with him and keep something close to his pace. "Let's go. Whether or not you wanna bother nobody, I don't have a problem askin' the doc to earn her portion of that deer I shot."


	41. Chapter 41

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"What exactly seems to be the problem, Mama?" The doctor asked as she pushed the door closed to the room that she called her exam room.

Daryl was already helping Carol onto the table to simply sit there and await instruction. Alice went directly to the little attached bathroom and washed her hands.

"I can still hear you," she called, when Carol didn't immediately answer her presented question.

"I don't know if there's anything wrong," Carol said.

She didn't look quite well and Daryl suddenly got worried that she was overwhelmed by simply being there. She'd been very hesitant to come—like disturbing the doctor with a medical question or two might get them drummed out of the community or something equally as drastic. Now she was sitting rigidly on the table with her hands so tightly clamped in her lamp that her knuckles were white, and she looked like she might be sick.

"Baby's movin' a whole lot lately," Daryl said, deciding he could at least help her by being the annoying party himself. "Like since we got here. Weren't movin' like that before."

Alice smiled to herself even as she dried her hands on a rag that she tossed into a basket and gathered a few things from her supplies to put in a basket she could easily carry around.

"Babies move more the bigger they get," Alice said. "Actually—that's a lie but…not really."

"You gonna explain that?" Daryl asked when she fell quiet for a moment. Alice laughed to herself.

"They move from the moment they pretty much come into existence. But the bigger they get, the easier it is for everyone to feel them moving. And then when they get really big, and things start to get pretty cramped, they'll kind of slow down a little bit, sometimes, but they'll still move."

"She's moving a lot," Carol said. "Like—all the time."

"And we're worryin' that might mean she's like—not likin' it or somethin's wrong," Daryl offered.

"You're concerned she's in some kind of distress," Alice supplied. She looked directly at Daryl, so he nodded. "Put this under your tongue for me, Mama?"

Carol accepted the thermometer that Alice offered her. She held out her arm, too, for the blood pressure cuff that the doctor produced from her basket of supplies. Daryl stood, arms crossed, and watched. He felt a little useless in the moment, but he was going to stay in case Carol needed or wanted him there.

"Blood pressure's a little high," Alice said as the air hissed out of the cuff. "Nervous?"

"She didn't want to come," Daryl offered. "In case it was nothin' and you got pissed."

Alice laughed to herself and looked at Daryl before she turned her attention back to Carol.

"Are you scared of me or something?" Alice asked.

"No, it's nothing like that," Carol breathed out as soon as Alice had removed the thermometer from her mouth.

"Temperature's normal for a gestating mother," Alice offered. Can you unbutton a couple of those buttons? Maybe—just come out of your shirt? If that's alright?"

Carol nodded and unbuttoned her shirt. She shimmied it off to rest on the table behind her. Daryl tried to divert his eyes away, but it didn't work for long. He looked at her breasts resting in the bra that she'd found. He looked at her swollen belly practically resting on her legs. If Alice had checked his blood pressure and pulse at the moment, he was sure she'd tell him it was all higher than it needed to be.

"I just don't want to bother you over—something silly," Carol said.

Alice warmed up the stethoscope she was using before she pressed it to Carol's chest and listened. She listened to her back, to, and Carol followed every instruction that the doctor gave her. When she was done, Alice traded out her stethoscope for a different one.

"I don't want to scan her again right now if there's no reason," Alice said. "We'll let her have a little privacy. And you, too. But I can hear her heartbeat." She smiled to herself when she had clearly found it, searching it out on Carol's belly. "If you want to hear it, Mama, take the pieces out of my ears. You can have a little listen."

Carol's hands were visibly shaking when she did what Alice instructed her to do. The doctor held as still as she could and Carol placed the pieces in her ears. She smiled.

"You can hear it?" Alice asked. Carol nodded. "Perfectly normal," Alice offered.

Carol took the ear pieces out and Alice accepted the return of the instrument. Then she instructed Carol to unbutton her pants and simply to lie back. There was no need, she promised her, to undress any further. Carol did lie back and, when she was comfortable, Alice set about pressing and prodding her body gently.

"Oooh," Carol breathed out.

"Hurts?" Alice asked.

"Uncomfortable," Carol said.

"But sharp pain or?" Alice asked, leaving her question hanging.

"No, it doesn't really hurt," Carol said. "Not—not like that. I can feel her—it feels like she's…kicking me in my…you know…vagina."

Alice laughed. She continued prodding. Then, finally, she stopped.

"She is moving like crazy in there, Mama," Alice said. "I'll give you that. I can feel her. She's all over the place. But…"

"But?" Daryl asked, stepping a little closer when Alice let her words trail off.

"You can sit up now, Mama. You can put your shirt on. Button up. What I was going to say is that—she's moving like crazy, but it's not because she's in any kind of distress. At least, not that I can tell. She was healthy when I scanned her. She looked good. A little undersized, but good. I can already tell you've put on a little weight, though."

"Is that bad?" Carol asked. Daryl noticed her fingers were trembling quite dramatically. She'd lost the ability to button her shirt. Rather than say anything about it and risk embarrassing her, he stepped forward and worked the buttons for her.

"It's wonderful," Alice said. "You're looking better than you did when you got here. You've got color in your cheeks. Your breasts are filling out—getting ready to feed her when it's time. And if you're growing, she's growing."

"My daughter, Sophia—she didn't move much when I was pregnant with her," Carol said.

"Maybe she didn't move as much," Alice said. "Babies are different. Maybe—you had other things going on and you didn't notice. Maybe you just hadn't noticed how much this one was moving before and now you are."

"I didn't pay enough attention…" Carol said.

"Is she always this sensitive, Daddy?" Alice asked.

Daryl jumped at the title being used for him. He glanced at Carol to see if she noticed or looked uncomfortable. She was looking a little green around the gills, but he didn't feel like it had to do with the doctor's use of the title.

"No," he said. "She ain't sensitive. She's just—a mother. Worried. She's done lost one kid so—cut her some slack."

Alice held her hands up in mock surrender.

"I get it," she said. "I was joking. It's what I do. Call it a character flaw. But I get it. I understand. I hear you both loud and clear. Look—I wasn't your doctor back then and I don't have any way of knowing what your other pregnancy was like. I don't know how your health was or your baby's health. I don't know what you were going through and what your stats were. I can't speak on it at all. I can't even speak on anything related to that pregnancy. The only thing I can tell you about that pregnancy was that you gave birth vaginally and you tore. I know that because you've got visible scar tissue and it wasn't a clean scar."

"I didn't have great prenatal care," Carol offered.

"And I'm going to do my best to remedy that," Alice said. "With this one. You can come to me any time you want. Just like this. Even if—she's just got the hiccups and you want me to check you over really quick and make sure that's all it is. You don't bother me. The biggest thing I want you to do is keep doing what you've been doing and calm down. Don't get so worked up over coming to see me."

She looked directly at Carol's shaking hands and Daryl realized that neither of them had managed to hide her anxiety.

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly, hiding her hands behind her back like a child might.

"Don't be," Alice said softly. She glanced at Daryl. She looked back at Carol. She looked back and forth between them a moment before she settled her eyes back on Carol. "I don't know—anything about you except what you tell me. But you can tell me anything you want. Daddy—you, too. Anything I need to know."

"Told you her husband was an asshole," Daryl said. "And I don't know it all, but I know enough to think—maybe it's got somethin' to do with this?"

Carol looked like she might be sick, but she nodded her head. She didn't volunteer to say anything else, but nothing else was really necessary. Daryl decided he might ask her about it, but he'd wait until they were safely within the walls of their house and Carol was feeling a bit more relaxed and open about things.

Alice reached and caught Carol's arms. She pulled them around and slid her hands down until she was holding Carol's hands.

"Take a couple deep breaths for me, OK? Ready? I'll go with you. In…keep coming in until I say don't, OK? In…now out. All the way. In…in…in…now out."

After a moment, Carol visibly calmed a little. Alice held one of her hands, but she rested the other on her belly.

"She's looking good, Mama," Alice said with a sincere smile. "My non-medical opinion of things is that she's getting some stuff she wasn't getting before. She's getting some rest because—maybe—before you had to be on edge a lot more and now, you're letting her relax some. She's getting lots of good food because you're filling up several times a day now like I asked you to. Maybe—Daddy's even got a little extra time to give you some good attention and some good loving? All of that, Mama? It's going to affect you, but it's going to affect her, too. There's a lot that goes into growing a baby and it's psychological as much as it is physical sometimes. She is a busy, busy bee. I can feel that. But—and I want you to listen to me, OK? Daddy—are you listening? Because I want you to listen too."

"I'm listening," Daryl offered. "We both are."

"If she stopped moving, suddenly, I would absolutely want to know about it," Alice said. "If you felt like—she wasn't moving as much as you thought was normal or right? I'd want to know immediately. But this baby? She can't move around too much, OK? She might just be wiggly. Maybe she's got a lot of energy. Maybe she's got a lot to be happy about and she just can't be stopped from dancing. Whatever it is? She can't move too much. There's nothing wrong with her wanting to move around. And there's nothing wrong with her sleeping, either, once she gets all that wiggling around out for a while. She's OK in there. She's living it up, that's all. And all this movement? Mama—this isn't a failure on your part or something, OK? This is like—it's a success on your part. She's doing great. But that doesn't mean, either that you did something wrong last time, OK? All babies are different."

Carol nodded.

"OK," she breathed out. She rubbed her hand over her belly a few times in circles. "OK."

"You feel better?" Alice asked.

"You're sure she's OK?" Carol asked.

"As positive as I can be," Alice said.

"She's just—dancing or something?" Carol asked.

"Stretching, rolling, kicking, dancing," Alice said. "Whatever feels good to her. She's taking full advantage of her space and her energy."

Carol smiled to herself, then.

"So, she's—happy?" Carol asked.

"As far as I can tell," Alice offered. Carol's smile broadened a little as she rubbed her hand a bit more over her belly. "It might drive you crazy, though," Alice said with a laugh.

"No," Carol said. "No, I want her to—do what she likes. I like it. I just—you know—I…"

"Wanted to know she weren't like sendin' out an SOS," Daryl offered.

Alice laughed.

"No SOS signals here," Alice said. "Mama looks good. Baby looks good. Daddy looks a little overwhelmed, but he'll catch up."

Daryl laughed quietly at the doctor's silly attempt to put them all at ease.

"Thanks," Daryl offered, seeing a very obvious wave of relief wash over Carol. She looked like she was headed back in the direction of feeling every bit as light as she had earlier in the morning, before she'd even begun to think there might be anything wrong in her whole life.

"Never a problem," Alice said. "Let me know if you've got anything else for me. In the meantime, keep doing what you're doing. In a couple of months, you'll get to meet your busy little girl for real."

Daryl's heart thundered wildly at the thought.

"Can't wait," he offered, realizing that he really meant it—though Carol might think he was only performing for the doctor. "You—you ready to go? Or you got somethin' else?"

Carol looked at him, offered him a smile and shook her head.

"What's on the agenda for this evening?" Alice asked. "Or am I allowed to ask?"

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Just a quiet evening at home," he said, liking the way it sounded. Carol smiled, too, when he said the words.

"Relaxing," she said. "Together."

Her cheeks blushed a little pink.

"Excellent," Alice said. "Sounds just like what the doctor ordered."


	42. Chapter 42

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl sent Carol to shower while he stopped by the storage areas for a few "things" to help entertain them. Carol had left him to his "shopping" and had only made the request that he grab her a book or two to pass any quiet hours she had at night, when her daughter seemed to prefer that she didn't sleep. She'd taken her time showering at the house and she'd started a fire in the fireplace while she'd waited on Daryl to make it back to the house.

Carol had picked up a few items of clothing from one of the storage areas and she slipped into some gray yoga pants and a loose shirt that was less revealing than the nightgown that Andrea had given her. It was perfect for lounging and she curled up on the couch in the living room to wait for Daryl.

Just thinking about the fact that he was coming back to the house made her insides practically shake with nervousness. Not only was he returning to the house—the house they called their house—but he was coming back to spend the evening with her. He wanted a quiet evening. He wanted a nice, quiet evening at home. The thought kept running through her mind almost obsessively. Every time she turned her attention to something else, the thought came racing back.

Carol was almost afraid that she'd fall short of his expectation and, yet, she had no idea what his expectation might be.

There was very little with which she could think to distract herself, so she was grateful when she heard the bumping around outside that told her Daryl was coming up the porch steps. She hit her feet as quickly as she could and opened the door to try to help him. He smiled at her, briefly, before he pushed past her and stepped inside.

In his right hand, he carried a pot that swung from a metal handle. The lid of it was flipped over—wrong-side up—and there was something packed into the lid. In his left hand, he held the end of a sack that he carried slung over his shoulder. It made him look like some kind of redneck version of Santa Clause.

"What is all this?" Carol mused as Daryl put down the sack he'd brought and thrust the pot out to in her direction. Immediately upon taking it, she realized that the something bundled into the lid of the pot was bread wrapped in cloth napkins.

"Picked up some stuff," Daryl said. "Got supper while I was out. They just give me the pot. Said that oughta be enough, but we can go back for more if we need it. There weren't no dessert, but I did get some snacks. They in the bag."

Carol laughed to herself.

"This should be plenty," she said. "Why don't you—go take a shower? Since we're not going out anymore tonight? I'll warm this up while you're gone and we can have an early meal before we…well…before we figure out what we want to do?"

"Alright," Daryl agreed. "Alright…just—don't open the bag. I wanna show you what I got."

"I won't open it," Carol said. She teasingly dragged her finger across her chest in a large and looping "X." "Cross my heart. I'll just warm up the food while you're gone. I can't wait to see what you got."

"It ain't nothin'," Daryl said, immediately looking a little embarrassed for the flitting moment of enthusiasm he'd shown over his bag full of items."

"I want to see it," Carol assured him, sensing that he needed some urging more than he needed teasing or anything else. She smiled at him. "I'll warm up the food and—you enjoy your shower. No peeking. I promise."

Daryl nodded at her and a smile flitted across his lips for half a second before he disappeared to the bedroom to take a shower. Carol stayed where she was for a short time after Daryl left the room. She closed her eyes to simply enjoy the sensations of the moment. This was her house—her home now—and it was comfortable and safe. The baby she carried was still and, she assumed, sleeping from her earlier acrobatics. The man that she cared so much for was taking a shower and looking forward to a quiet, relaxing evening with her. If she played her cards right with him—was it too early to think how wonderful things could be?

Was it too ridiculous to imagine some happily ever after, which she'd imagined once before, actually coming true? Could she find happiness with Daryl instead of having her dreams shattered for her once again?

Carol laughed to herself when she imagined how Daryl might react to the fact that she was really good at letting her imagination run away from her. Even if he was interested in such a serious relationship with her, he wouldn't be interested in it so soon, and she would only scare him away to tell him all the things she could dream up to share with him in a world where they were wholly committed to one another.

Carol took the food that Daryl had given her, and she carried it into the kitchen. She tested the eye on the stove and found that the whole house was connected, apparently, to the grid. The eye heated and she placed the pot of stew over it. She rummaged around the kitchen until she found a pan that she considered suitable, and she laid the bread pieces out over the pan and turned the oven on to heat. She would toast them slightly so that they'd be warm for dinner.

Carol wiped down plates that she pulled from the cabinets to ensure they were clean, and she set the table with plates, spoons, and some cloth napkins she found in a drawer. For an added touch, she brought two candles from the living room and, lighting them, she placed them in the middle of the table. Maybe it was a bit much, and Carol laughed to herself when she imagined Daryl having something to say about them, but she thought it was better than the harsh overhead lighting or the somewhat distant light on the hood above the stove.

She was stirring the stew, heating it on low heat to keep it from burning and to make sure it was heated evenly, when she heard Daryl's heavy footsteps. He was wearing his boots. She reminded herself that she might ask him if he'd like some lighter shoes to wear around the house and out to the porch or the wood pile. For tonight, though, he was wearing his boots. There was a certain sound to his footfalls that she'd learned to identify already. He shuffled slightly when he walked.

With her back still to him, she smiled to herself. He stopped by the table. She heard the sound of something move. He must have touched a place setting. She knew that about him, too, even if she never told him all the things she'd observed—he was extremely tactile. He liked to touch things.

He thought he was the only observant one, sometimes, but Carol had seen plenty about him—and she liked most of what she saw.

He shuffled further into the kitchen. He stopped. Without warning, arms encircled her from behind her and wrapped around her. He fit his body to hers. He pressed lips to the back of her neck and a jolt of electricity shot through Carol. Her body begged her for more kisses from the man who was holding her so tenderly.

Once upon a time in what seemed like a very distant land, Carol would have been very uncomfortable to have a man walk up behind her and grab her. Her heart would have beat wildly for a very different reason than the reason for which it was dancing now.

Instead of treating her as Ed might have if he'd walked up behind her in such a way, Daryl rested his head on her shoulder.

"This alright?" He asked. The way in which he asked it made the question appear a thousand times more tender than the actual question was. Carol smiled to herself when her stomach fluttered in response.

"You can touch me whenever you like," she offered. "However you like. And, if for some reason I don't like it, I'll tell you."

He moved his head to kiss the back of her neck again. She felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, suddenly, as he nipped the skin of her neck. Her breathing picked up. She was accustomed to being quiet—Ed had trained her to be as quiet as possible about all things so she never alerted anyone to what was happening. She allowed herself, though, to moan her pleasure at Daryl's testing. One of the hands encircling her just below her breasts dropped down and found her belly. Daryl rubbed her belly. He massaged it, gently, under his fingertips. Carol forgot that she was supposed to be tending stew. She leaned back into him and rewarded him with another moan of satisfaction. She could hear him breathing heavier. She could feel his breath as it blew against the crook of her neck and her collarbone. She could feel the slightly sharp bite of his teeth as he nibbled his way down her neck and across the tender skin of her shoulder. The wandering hand worked its way down her belly, crawling carefully over the curves set by her growing daughter, and it threatened to travel lower. Carol's whole body burned in anticipation of the rest of the journey.

But then Daryl stopped.

He placed one final gentle kiss on the back of Carol's neck. He pulled away from her. He untangled them where they'd practically become one person in the kitchen. He stepped back a few steps and when Carol looked at him over her shoulder, he was panting and running his fingers through wet hair. He lit a cigarette unapologetically and examined a glass that someone—probably T-Dog—had left on the counter.

Carol's body was still buzzing with anticipation. She could still feel the slightly rough hold of his fingers on her skin and the residual burn of a few bites that had been, perhaps, harder than he'd meant for them to be.

She stirred the stew that was beginning to bubble in the pot and backed up to gather up the pan with the carefully arranged bread pieces. She slipped it into the oven and then she turned to fully face Daryl.

"Did I do something wrong?" She asked.

"What?" Daryl asked.

"You stopped," Carol said. "Did I—was it me? Did I do something wrong?"

"You didn't do nothin' wrong," Daryl said. "I was just—I just wanted to—you know…hell, I don't even know. I just wanted to…do that."

Carol smiled at him. It was the sincerest explanation of what he'd done that anyone could possibly give.

"I liked it," Carol said.

"Me too," he agreed.

"But, why did you stop?" Carol asked.

Daryl shrugged his shoulders.

"You're makin' dinner and—we had a whole thing planned. Dinner and I was gonna tell you about…Merle and this place here. I saw T down at the storage place and he was with Michonne gettin' stuff they got sent after. She was askin' about the baby and…I put in a good word for him, you know? Uncle T an' we couldn't do without him and all that. Seemed like that got her attention a little. I don't figure he'll be back any time soon. Thought we'd have dinner and…you know…get to know each other? I don't know what you're supposed to do on quiet evenings at home."

Carol smiled at him. He was going quite red in the face and if she let him go too long, she worried that he might embarrass himself. She had a gut feeling, too, that he might react in anger if he got embarrassed, and she wanted neither of those emotions for him at this moment.

She stepped toward him and stopped his verbal worrying with a kiss. He deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her again. Immediately, her body responded to the renewed touch and she pressed closer against him for a second before she forced herself to pull away.

"We'll have dinner," she said. "You'll tell me about everything you want to tell me about. You'll show me what you got and we'll…we can do whatever you want. There are no rules, that I'm aware of, for a quiet evening at home. It's whatever you want."

"What about what you want?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at him and cocked her eyebrow at him.

"What I want is to spend the evening with you," Carol said. "Whatever that ends up looking like. And then? When we're ready? You'll take me to bed." Her heart thundered over the fact that she had dared to be so direct with him. He looked a little shocked, but he looked pleased, too.

"You mean—like that…?" He asked.

Carol smiled.

"I mean however you want," Carol said. She laughed to herself. "But—I hope it's like that."


	43. Chapter 43

**AN: Here we are, another little chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"This weren't the only place," Daryl said around a mouthful of meat and vegetables that he hadn't fully chewed yet. "Never was. Merle said they told him that they was like ten of these places set up an' that's just what they know about. Who the hell knows how many there are like—like spread out. Everywhere."

"Safe zones or…?" Carol asked. Daryl shrugged his shoulders in response.

"I mean—didn't have no proper name at the time they was gettin' started," Daryl said. "That's what the hell Alice told him. When the shit first started to spread, the idea was just to move people away from outbreaks. Then, when they couldn't get people nowhere that was really away from the outbreaks, it all turned into sorta quarantining shit. Merle said that they told him the reason they was so many doctors right here was because they come in special to try to get some kinda hold on the outbreak. Alice said there was more of 'em, but they lost a lot of people before they got smart enough to know what the hell the difference between a sick person an' a done-in person was. Said the only doctors willin' to come up here were the ones like her, I guess. She calls 'em less-conventional. Merle said she called 'em the 'have stethoscope, will travel' variety. Merle just calls 'em the damn ballsy ones that wanted to walk head first into somethin' they didn't know shit about. Somethin' they was thinkin' could end up bein' like the next Bubonic plague or some shit. A lot of 'em died, though, just 'cause they didn't know you couldn't save 'em once they was bit in the wrong place, and those that turned weren't really alive at all."

"Like Hershel?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed and nodded his head.

"Maybe a little," Daryl said.

"Why didn't we hear about all this in Atlanta?" Carol asked.

"We did," Daryl said. "Didn't pay it that much attention, though, 'cause they didn't know what to call it. You remember that bird flu outbreak or whatever the hell they were talkin' about on the news for a while? Some of the first reports of it come from up here. The thing was—just like we come up here because not a lot of people was up here to start with, the reverse was also true. Not a lot of people left here. That meant that when it broke out here, Walkers were kinda bunched in together with family and friends an' the population was smaller. Scattered. Grouped. Showed up different—looked different—than it did in big places like Atlanta with that damn many people. They thought it was somethin' related to the water at first. Then the wildlife. Started investigatin' the animals. Everyone else was ignorin' the news 'cause it don't affect us and them couple of homeless fuckers walkin' around in the streets of Atlanta causin' news was probably on that new drug they was suspectin'."

"We couldn't even hear the warnings," Carol said with a sigh.

"Don't matter now," Daryl said. "Point is, we aren't alone out here. And that's just the people we know about."

"Why don't they all just join together?" Carol asked.

"Different ideas on how things ought to be done," Daryl said. Carol's stomach churned uncomfortably and she shifted in her chair to try to find a little relief. She feared that her concern over what Daryl was telling her would result in heartburn that was capable of ruining her whole evening. "You OK?" Daryl asked after a second of watching her intently.

"Are they dangerous?" Carol asked.

"Not that we know of," Daryl said. Carol felt some relief. She felt her body starting to untangle itself. "Not that Merle said, anyways. We keep an eye out for anything suspicious. Keep guard. He says they try to keep good relations with anyone they come across. It was one of the problems they had with previous leaders. You go and stir shit up with someone else, you gotta expect that they gonna come and retaliate. But Merle ain't got no interest in stirrin' shit. You prob'ly don't believe me because you ain't known him as long as I have, but—if he's clean? Merle's a pretty damn mellow person. Long as he's clean. And I think he's gonna stay clean as long as he's got somethin' to entertain him an' make him feel like he don't mind wakin' up in the mornin'." He shrugged his shoulders. "As long as he's got somethin' to make him feel better about—wakin' up."

"Andrea," Carol said.

Daryl nodded his head.

"Andrea. Hell—maybe that's too damn much to put on Andrea, but it's the truth. I mean, this place, too—but he wants this place for him to have Andrea. The idea of a kid. He's got a lot of interest in keepin' this place safe an' keepin' the peace among everyone around here."

"I'm glad," Carol offered. It was a weak sentiment, but it was all that she could muster up at the moment. She was concerned, still, to discover that they weren't alone. She was concerned to discover that previous leaders might have left a legacy of bad blood between the groups that lived anywhere nearby. She was relieved that Merle was the kind of leader who wanted peace for his people and his motivation to have it was so strong that, sincerely, she doubted that there were any lengths to which he wouldn't go to keep things as safe and peaceful as possible.

And, in an entirely different way, she was moved to think that a man like Merle Dixon—whom she'd first come to know as nothing more than a drug addict who was too quick to get hyped up on something and wreak havoc on their camp—was so in love with a woman and the idea of his own family, that he could be moved to entirely turn his life around in a quest just to keep the good thing that he'd found.

The more she knew about Daryl, the more she imagined the Dixons had a great deal of life they might want to forget. They might have a great deal that they wanted to escape.

Merle had once found that escape in substances. Now, it seemed, he found that escape in a purpose and home.

Carol couldn't help but wonder if Daryl was looking for the same thing. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd react the same way if he found it. She couldn't help but daydream, just a little—and she was thankful that it helped to relieve the uncomfortable tangle of nerves in her gut—that she may be able to give him everything it was that he needed or wanted.

The gnawing and ever-present voice of Ed told her that she'd never be worth that much to any man. His voice told her that she'd drive Daryl to drugs more than she'd save him from anything in his past. But there was a small glimmer of hope inside her.

After all, he wasn't objecting too greatly to sharing his new home with her. And the way he'd kissed her earlier had felt genuine and hungry in the best sort of way.

She wanted to ask him if it was only the novelty of it all, but she feared the answer.

She'd rather keep her daydreams to herself for now. She'd rather just enjoy what was instead of running the risk of shattering it over thoughts of what might be.

"You OK?" Daryl asked. His voice snatched her out of her daydreams. She could feel that her face was contorted—drawn up in the pain that her final thoughts had caused her as she'd imagined that, maybe, Ed was always right about her. She purposefully softened her expression and put on smile, but from Daryl's own contorted features, she could tell that he wasn't fully believing her.

"I just—got worried," she said. He didn't need to know what she was worried about. And when he responded, it was clear that he was willing to fill in worry for himself anyway.

"Hey," he said softly, "don't worry about it. There ain't been no trouble since Merle took over. But if there is? We'll handle it. He'll know how to handle it."

Carol smiled at him more sincerely this time.

"I don't want to talk about it anymore, OK?" She requested. He nodded his head.

"We can talk about whatever you want," Daryl said. She felt even more relieved.

"What did you get?"

"You done eatin'?" Daryl asked. He was clearly concerned about her unfinished stew and bread. Daryl seemed determined to feed her until she actually exploded.

"I just don't want anymore right now," Carol said. His brow furrowed, so she quickly added to the statement. "Maybe—I'll want something later."

Daryl looked like he accepted that. He nodded his head and balled his napkin up, putting it on the table.

"You want me to—wash the dishes?" He asked. Carol smiled to herself. The offer seemed entirely genuine.

"What if—I wash and you help me dry?" Carol asked. Daryl considered the request and then nodded his OK. He cleared the table while Carol put the stew and leftover bread to the side in case they may want it later. She washed the few dishes they had used and Daryl carefully dried them before stacking them on the counter.

She didn't tell him that she enjoyed simply having him there, beside her, while she did the dishes. She didn't tell him that Ed had never offered to help her in the kitchen.

All she told him was "thank you" for what he'd done, and she gave him a kiss for his efforts. He looked more pleased with the kiss than anything else, and he'd wrapped his arms around her to hold her close enough for him to steal a few more as payment. She'd gladly let him have them.

When the kisses were done, but the warm feeling they left in her belly still lingered, Carol had followed Daryl into the living room and she'd sat on the couch while he proudly unpacked the bag of items he'd chosen.

There were snacks to keep her and the little one fed should they somehow starve before the no doubt hefty breakfast that would be served in the morning. In addition to the snacks, Daryl seemed particularly anxious to share with her the fact that he'd procured two packets of hot chocolate mix—one for each of them unless she really wanted both—because he'd seen it and been sure that an evening at home required such a treat.

His happiness over two battered paper packets of hot chocolate had tugged at Carol's heart, and she'd struggled against the tears that had threatened to choke her when she'd realized that, perhaps, the things that Daryl had chosen to enjoy were things that he'd never really enjoyed before—and he'd chosen to share them with her.

He showed her books that he brought her to pass the wee hours of the morning when the baby in her belly forbade her to sleep. She'd asked for one, but he'd brought her enough to fill one of the shelves in the living room bookshelf.

He'd also brought several taped-up boxes of board games. Carol hadn't missed the certain hint of affection or enchantment he'd used as he stroked the cover of each game and declared that they'd told him all the pieces were there. He stacked up the several games he'd chosen and sat back to display his prizes to Carol with much the same look of expectation and pride that he'd worn when he'd showed her a particularly good kill that they'd needed to keep them all alive on the road.

Her chest ached with more emotion than she might have been able to explain, and she cleared her throat and pretended to have a bit of a coughing fit before she spoke.

"It's wonderful," she said.

"Yeah?" Daryl asked. "Not too bad. For a quiet evenin', I mean."

"It's perfect," Carol assured him. "But—we're missing a few things."

His face fell. He surveyed his small mountain of snacks and the board games.

"What we missin'?" He asked.

Carol offered him a smile.

"A couple of mugs and some hot water for that hot chocolate," Carol said. "And—maybe a couple of cushions to make the floor more comfortable? We could play the game at the coffee table. Maybe—sit together? Share a blanket if it's cold?" Daryl was already nodding. "Would you like that?" Carol asked, already suspecting she knew the answer.

"I'll get the pillows an' blankets," Daryl offered. He got to his feet in record time. Carol knew that if she was on the floor—and once she made it down there to sit among the cushions that he would put down—she'd never make it up without Daryl's assistance. Still, when he offered her a hand to even help her get off the couch, she knew he wouldn't leave her stranded on the floor like an over-turned turtle.

"I'll make the hot chocolate," Carol said. She accepted the packets when Daryl handed them to her to save her from bending to pick them up. "You can set up the game, too, if you want."

"Which kind of game you want to play?" Daryl asked.

Carol swallowed back a laugh.

"I don't care," she said sincerely, "as long as—I'm playing it with you."


	44. Chapter 44

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I know there are some people who do not like smutty/explicit/somewhat explicit chapters. If that's you, then you might just want to hop right on over this one. Consider this your "mature content" warning. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Carol hummed out her satisfaction at the soft, chocolatey kiss that Daryl exchanged with her. Daryl was a man who thoroughly enjoyed having verbal feedback on everything he did. Carol didn't mind giving him the feedback, though, because she appreciated the way that he responded to it by repeating whatever she'd found pleasing and, in most cases, trying to improve on what he'd already done.

They had tried to play Clue, but they'd quickly realized that the game truly required more players for it to be any fun at all. Carol had suggested to him that they think about asking Merle and Andrea—and, perhaps, T-Dog and Michonne if everything went well with those two this evening—if they wanted to have a game night and play in the future. Daryl had accepted that suggestion. The next game they'd set up for the two of them to enjoy was Monopoly. Six passes around the board, though, and it was pretty clear this wasn't the kind of game that was going to hold Daryl's attention.

Carol wasn't complaining, though, because a distracted Daryl had practically pulled her into his lap and, when she'd protested that her weight—sure to be incredibly ridiculous at this point—would make his legs to go sleep, he'd smothered her protests with kisses.

Those kisses continued.

The kisses ran the full gamut between Daryl's softest kisses and his hardest ones. He broke every now and again to taste his cooling hot chocolate, and Carol found herself drinking the beverage just to quench the thirst that she was feeling. A thirst, she was sure, that her body was creating in response to all of the sensations coursing through her and her hope for what might come later.

This time, Daryl's hand found its way under the loose shirt that Carol was wearing. His fingers trailed along her skin and found her breast. He massaged her breast as he kissed her and teased her nipple with his fingertips. Every muscle in Carol's body tensed pleasurably at the touch and she was embarrassed by the fact that she felt herself preparing for more—for much more—over something so simple.

She wanted him. Her body wanted him.

And she rewarded him for the touch with a very satisfied moan that only made his efforts to tease her more focused. He found the other breast and teased it in much the same way before he readjusted himself on the floor and pulled her a little tighter against him.

She was sitting somewhat sideways on his lap, and he lowered his head to kiss and suck at her neck. The hungry way in which he did it only made her body ache more for him, and made her groan out in the almost-pain that her anticipation caused.

Daryl's hand trailed slowly down from her breast. His fingers took a moment to walk a circle around her belly. Involuntarily, her muscles tightened again. He eased his fingers down and she felt them as they encountered the elastic band of the yoga pants and, just dipping under the band, stopped their trip.

"Why?" She panted out.

She was immediately ashamed of herself. She felt her cheeks burn hot. She hadn't meant to voice the question at all. She'd only meant to give him another sound of encouragement. The question had slipped out as her subconscious took over a little in its desperation for him to go further.

Daryl was breathing heavy. She heard it as his mouth passed near her ear.

"You don't mind?" He asked.

Carol heard her own laughter as it caught in her throat.

"Please," she breathed out. "Oh—please."

Daryl's hand continued its trip. It clumsily found her underwear, beyond the yoga pants, and his fingers stumbled a moment over working their way under the second elastic obstacle. Carol suddenly regretted her choice to wear clothes at all to dinner and their evening together, but she forgot her regret when Daryl's fingers found their way clear and slid down to touch her.

Her breathing caught and she tipped her head back to rest against Daryl. She closed her eyes.

He could say anything at that moment.

He could complain that she weighed too much on his lap. He could complain that her clothing wasn't attractive enough. He could tell her that she was huge—and disgusting—and that he hated the way that her body looked. He could scold her for the fact that she couldn't even recall the last time she'd seen a razor. He could complain that she was too wet—sloppy—and he found it disgusting. He could complain that he could smell her, even from a distance, and whether or not it was true, and that she turned his stomach.

But those were all things that Ed would say, and Daryl wasn't Ed.

Carol was sharply and immediately reminded of that when his mouth—close to her ear and practically panting into her ear—breathed out "so wet" in an almost reverent tone and offered her the same kind of groan of happiness and satisfaction that she'd given him over kisses and touches and everything else.

Carol shifted her body enough to help his fingers find what they were, hopefully, looking for, as they trailed back up a bit. He pressed them against her, as if searching out a button. In fact, he was blindly searching out a button of sorts and Carol was sure of that.

"There," she breathed out when he found it. "There…there…right there." He worked his fingers against her nub and she whined at him in satisfaction.

"Gentle?" He asked.

"Harder," Carol breathed out. He obliged. "Faster," she tested, leaning back against him as her body took over once more and did what nature seemed to drive it to do. She grabbed at him, her hands finding his pants and his shirt to hold bunched between her fingers. "Sorry," she breathed out, realizing she was balling his clothes up in her hands. She consciously released him.

"No," he said, his mouth still close to her ear. "No—hold on to me. Good?"

"Good," Carol breathed. "Oh…"

She meant to offer him so much more encouragement. She meant to make him understand that she was thankful for what he was doing, no matter how odd she felt to be thankful for such a thing, but it all felt lost as her mind swam around with the bliss of the moment. She felt practically drunk over the pleasure that coursed through her. She couldn't remember feeling just like this before.

And then there was the almost blinding moment of pleasure that was so intense that it was almost painful and Carol called out—all her shame lost in the pleasure of the moment.

Daryl stopped a moment, but he didn't withdraw his hand. Carol worked to try to find words for him. She sought the ability to tell him that she thanked him—to tell him that he could stop. She sought the ability to tell him that she'd reciprocate for him. That she'd offer him whatever he wanted of her body to repay his kindness—his wonderful, wonderful kindness.

But all she seemed able to do was to float around, mentally, in the soup of pleasure that her brain seemed to have become.

Without moving his hand, Daryl used his other arm and his legs to rearrange the both of them. Carol did her best to follow his lead without asking him what he intended. She moved when he tugged her in a direction and, before long, he had moved her so that his back remained against the couch, but now she sat straight on his lap with her back to him. He rested his head firmly on her shoulder and sucked at her earlobe. That sensation, alone, made her body pulse where he'd already brought her to orgasm.

And then he returned to working the same button he had before. Carol couldn't respond except for to seek the sides of his legs to hold onto. The restoration of touch on very live nerve endings only made her body continue to pulse in the oddly painful pleasure that she welcomed.

He moved his hand, switching the duty from one finger to another, and Carol felt one of his fingers begging entrance to her body. She spread her legs over his and reclined against him. He sunk the finger in as deeply as he could and, immediately, she felt herself clamp around him. Her body was completely shameless about announcing its need and interest. When Daryl introduced a second finger into her body, exploring her, she tried to respond, but was only able to open her mouth in pleasure and to manage a moan that she wasn't sure communicated anything.

Her body spoke to him, instead, by pulsing around him as a way of showing its admiration that he could tease her with his fingers while his thumb continued to practically strum the magical spot he'd found before.

Carol felt the sensation as Daryl's body lifted, lowered, and shifted beneath her. She could feel, even beyond the stiffness of the denim he was wearing, as his own body made its demands known to him. The movements he made—the slightly squirming ride as he fought against bucking both of them on the living room floor—were likely beyond his control. Still, he was clearly doing his best to control them. He'd done better than Carol had, she was sure, at controlling things.

His mouth dampened her neck—the back and side of it—and her ear. His teeth made her skin sting as he occasionally bit harder than she was sure he realized he was biting. He kissed and nipped at her shoulder, too, and his teeth sunk somewhat roughly into the skin of her shoulder as her body clamped down, hard, around his fingers, in response to his teasing, and she felt herself overtaken by her body's need to let her know it had, once more, reached what it considered the pinnacle of pleasure.

Her choked confirmation of this got another bite from Daryl and a muffled growl from him that could have either been one of pain or pleasure.

"Like it when you do that," Daryl breathed into her ear. His voice was low—much lower than usual. It was gravelly like he hadn't used it in hours. He practically growled at her. "Squeeze me like that. You doin' it on purpose?"

"No," Carol breathed out. "I mean—I could…" She concentrated, just a moment, on moving muscles that she rarely paid attention to. In response for her efforts, Daryl growled at her again.

"Shit," he spat.

"Mostly it's just—because it feels so good," Carol admitted, rooting back into Daryl a bit. "You feel—so good."

Daryl continued on with his work a moment more and then he pulled his hand free. Carol didn't protest. It wasn't fair for her to protest the removal of his hand and the subsequent stopping of his actions. She'd come more, in the past few moments, than she'd come in months of her marriage to Ed. She had no right to demand more of Daryl.

A moment after his hand was freed, though, both of his hands were holding her hard at her hips. They dug into her hip bones to the point she almost cried out from the pressure of his hold.

Daryl, she already knew, was entirely unaware of his own strength. Still, for as dangerous as that could be—and for as much as a part of her told her that she should be afraid of that—she knew, deep down, that he'd take his hands off of her if she asked him for such a thing.

"I wanna fuck you," Daryl said in the same throaty growl as before. He pressed his face against the back of her neck. He rolled his forehead against her shoulder. "I wanna fuck you," he repeated. There was, maybe, even a touch of whining to his tone. He shifted under her—somewhat bucked up into her like he was losing control of something he'd kept masterfully under control until that point. "You say yes or you say no," Daryl growled out. "Ain't—ain't gonna be pissed. But—you say it quick. OK?"

Carol's chest tightened. It wasn't from anxiety, though. It wasn't from fear. Daryl's ultimatum, she could feel, was the kind of ultimatum that involved the quiet promise that, one way or another, he needed relief, but he was leaving her in control. She could say yes, and he'd take her—possibly in a way, and complete with feelings, that she'd never imagined before—or she could say no and he'd excuse himself.

She wanted what he could give her and, more than that, she wanted the satisfaction of giving him what he seemed to so desperately need at the moment.

"I think we need to go to the bedroom," Carol said softly. "We don't know when T will be back."

He hummed against her, still holding her tight. Then he practically sat her on the pillows beside him and got to his feet.

"Ok," he gruffed out into the semi-darkness of the living room.

"You're going to have to help me up," Carol offered.

"Hold on," Daryl said, leaning toward her. "I got that—don't worry."

Before she could offer him a hand or protest, he worked his hands under her. She might have worried about his inability to do it, but he picked her up from the floor. She smiled to herself. He hadn't complained about her weight, but he'd clearly remembered to lift with his legs.

She remembered, though, that he was a man who very regularly carried decent sized deer home—sometimes for miles—over his shoulders like he was barely carrying a bag of flour.

"I got you," he said to her as he pulled her close to his chest and started toward the bedroom. She wrapped her arms around him.

"You do," she said. "You absolutely do."

How absolutely she meant that declaration, though, was her own little secret. After all, she didn't want to overwhelm him, and she was happy with anything and everything he offered her. It was, already, far more than she'd ever had before or ever dreamed of having.


	45. Chapter 45

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**There is a smut warning on this chapter. If you don't like it, you might want to hop over this one. I'm not a huge smut writer (usually), but they needed this. **

**I hope you enjoy. Let me know what you think! **

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"Easy, easy…baby, baby," Carol hissed out when Daryl practically pitched her at the bed. She could clearly read that his intention hadn't been to be so rough. He was, perhaps, simply a little clumsy. Maybe, even, he was entirely unused to carrying women about in this manner—though Carol thought he definitely had some untapped potential if that were the case. Even when she squeaked out her warning, rolling a little onto her side as she bounced on the mattress, she kept her voice down.

She never would have told Ed to treat her more gently in that way. She would have begged him, perhaps, but never when she was pregnant. When she'd been pregnant with Sophia, she'd done all that she could not to mention the baby—no matter what Ed did to her—out of fear that drawing attention to the baby would only make things worse.

Daryl seemed to want to hear her, but she still wasn't entirely comfortable making demands or requests.

"Jesus," Daryl breathed out. He'd come out of his shirt in a frantic and fast move—Carol saw him pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side—but he practically dived on top of her when her words hit his ears. Hands searched her out. They ran up and down her sides and tripped over her belly and breasts like he was searching clumsily in the dark for missing pieces. "I forgot. Shit. You OK?"

"I'm OK," Carol assured him. "I'm OK. Can you turn the light on? The lamp on…it's so dark…"

"Yeah…" Daryl said. From the sounds of it, Daryl nearly cleared everything on the bedside table off, and he knocked over the lamp, before he sat it up and turned it on.

Carol couldn't help but smile at his expression when she could see him clearly in the light of the lamp. She rolled toward him and held her arms out to him to invite him to come to her. He looked like he wasn't sure what to do. He looked almost brokenhearted by the fact that he didn't know what to do.

And all that Carol wanted, at that moment, was to restore to him the fire that had been burning in him only moments before.

Seeing her invitation, Daryl practically dived at her again. He joined her on the bed and he kissed her, hard. She responded to him, this time being certain to meet him with every bit of hunger that she could possibly convey through a kiss. She ran her hands over his sides and what she could reach of his back. She scratched at his skin, and he responded by kissing her even more desperately, until she worried that he wouldn't allow her to breathe.

But she did catch her breath when he moved and, pushing her shirt up, replaced his hands with his mouth and latched onto her nipple. The same electrical current that had seemed to pulse through her when they'd been—or, rather, when he'd been doing everything that had driven her mad in the living room—that same electrical current jolted through her again and she heard Daryl snort at the sound that escaped her. She laughed in response.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out.

"No," Daryl said. "Good?"

"Oh," Carol responded. She meant to give him more feedback than that, but he'd gone to teasing the other breast, twirling his tongue around her nipple before latching onto it and sucking hard. She never would have imagined that she would have enjoyed the sensation, but all she could do in response was hold into Daryl's shoulders—where her fingers could find purchase—and lean her head back into the mattress.

Daryl seemed to find it amusing and, for a moment, he forgot that he'd wanted to fuck her with an unbridled desperation because, instead of fucking her, he lapped at her breasts until she was practically climbing backward across the mattress. And then he let her collapse and hovered over her a second to smile at her like he was quite pleased with himself.

She smirked back at him because the expression was one that she'd never seen before—but it was definitely one that she hoped to see again a thousand times over.

"Pillow? Please?" She croaked out, surprised at the sound of her own voice.

Daryl moved to hand her a pillow but playfully snatched it back as she reached for it. She laughed, recognizing immediately that's what he wanted her to do. The fire burning in his eye—the one unlike any she'd seen before—flared up just a little. He let go of the pillow when she reached for it again, but he crashed into her mouth and stole another kiss like a starving man as he did so. Even as the kiss was breaking, his hand went between her legs and rubbed her through the fabric of the pants she still hadn't managed to be rid of. She groaned in satisfaction at his teasing and lifted herself enough to slip the pillow beneath the small of her back.

"What's wrong?" Daryl asked.

"Nothing," Carol assured him, quickly, erasing his concern. "She's just a little heavy, that's all."

"She OK?" He asked.

"She's just fine," Carol assured him. She gave him a smile and, when she felt her chest ache and the muscles of her belly tense in response to his expression, she renewed the smile because she was absolutely certain that she meant the expression. "I promise—she's fine."

Daryl chewed his thumb a moment, clearly chewing over something he perceived as a problem, and Carol wished it was easier for her to sit up from the position that he'd chosen for her. She leaned up on her elbow and reached her hand out to him. He came toward her and she pulled him down. She kissed him again, focusing on keeping him there until she'd distracted him from his worry. When he pulled loose, he was off again, like he had been before, in search of what he wanted or needed.

Carol closed her eyes and smiled to herself.

Daryl was exploring her.

That was exactly what it felt like as his lips peppered spots around her body. He was exploring her. And she was more than content to let him do it.

He had given her more than she ever would have asked him for, sexually, in the living room floor and, apparently, he'd given it to her as what he considered to be nothing more than an appetizer or something to entertain them and pass the time. There was very little that he could want from her, at that moment, that she wasn't willing to give him and, so far, nothing that he'd wanted had even been less than thoroughly pleasurable for her.

And the low-grade hum that was practically radiating through Carol's body made her believe that nothing Daryl could do would be less than wonderful.

When he moved to kissing her belly—alternating between soft kisses and wetter, more intense kisses—Carol's muscles tightened in response and her hips lifted almost spontaneously. She moaned out her satisfaction and, when she heard Daryl pant with an odd sort of pleasure of his own from what he was doing, she gave him a louder cry of approval.

"Fuck," he muttered softly in between his next kisses, and Carol smiled to herself. She was almost certain that the sound was no indication of a problem.

His fingers found the band of her pants and worked them down. They found her underwear. He worked them all the way down and Carol lost the ability to touch his shoulders anymore with her fingertips as Daryl moved to the head of the bed—since they'd never gotten properly aligned on the bed—to find her feet and rid her entirely of her pants. While he did so, she slipped the shirt over her head and saved herself the trouble of feeling tangled up in it.

She felt vulnerable. Exposed. She lie completely naked on the bed and watched him as Daryl very quickly worked his way out of his pants. A certain calm had come over him at the moment, though, that hadn't been there before.

The frantic nature of his desire, earlier, had been sexy.

The calm, now, made parts of Carol throb in desire for more attention from the man before her.

She was beginning to think it wasn't anything in particular about the way that Daryl moved or behaved. She was beginning to think that her body was simply drawn to him. Her body simply wanted to respond to him—however he was at the moment.

He said nothing. He made no request. He announced no intention. That had passed for him for the time being. He assumed he had a right to be there—an invitation. Slipping his hand between her thighs like it was something he did every day, Daryl pushed her legs apart. She didn't force him to work too hard to do it, and she balled up the blankets of the bed in her fists in anticipation of what she knew was coming.

His fingers teased entrance into her body and she shifted a little and readjusted herself as he slid one of his fingers into her and immediately brought another to follow. He worked them a moment, rubbing her, and she realized he was trying to tease the pulsing squeeze out of her that had followed her chain of orgasms earlier. Her body was either too tired to continue giving him that which he wanted—that which he seemed to see as confirmation of a job well done—or she was too far removed from the first orgasms. She focused on flexing the muscles for him enough that he would be pleased. She worked her hips as much as her lower back would allow, riding his fingers for his satisfaction. He repaid her the kindness by latching onto her with the same enthusiasm that he'd used earlier on her nipples. It didn't take long before she no longer had to focus on creating the response that Daryl wanted.

When she came, her body already sensitive from before, Carol didn't try to stifle her desire to cry out. And, when Daryl continued in his efforts, she rewarded him by continuing to cry out with abandon.

He continued until, apparently, he'd accomplished whatever it was that he wanted to accomplish—since he could have stopped long ago if coaxing an orgasm from Carol's body had been all that he'd been searching for with his tongue. When he was done, he withdrew from that position, gathered up Carol's legs, and held her for a second.

"Wanna fuck you," he repeated in the same deep, and almost sorrowful, tone that he'd used before. Carol didn't know if it was a question or a statement, but it didn't really matter either way.

"Please," she breathed out.

It was all the invitation that Daryl needed. He sank entirely into her in one swift motion and held still for a second before he changed his position and started in search of what he needed. Daryl had prepared her, exactly, for what he intended. He fucked her, as promised. He fucked her hard and fast and with a palpable desire to obtain whatever he was after. Carol felt she could do little but hold on and enjoy the experience. She allowed any sound that she could make to escape her—no matter how ridiculous she might think it sounded—and Daryl seemed spurred on by all of the noises she produced.

Carol never would have let herself make those kinds of noises before. Ed hadn't cared for it. It ruined the mood, he said. It convinced him she was a whore. Only whores, after all, could make sounds of satisfaction like that. The sounds that spurred Daryl on would have gotten her a busted lip at the very least before.

Now, they felt encouraged. They felt rewarded. They felt appreciated, and it felt like he needed them to feel appreciated by her.

Carol did appreciate Daryl—more than he knew and more than she would dare to tell him. Because, though she did appreciate him for what he was doing to her body, she appreciated him for so much more, as well.

When Daryl came, he'd collapsed beside Carol, breathing like he'd run a marathon, and he'd hugged her to him. She'd abandoned the pillow, rolled onto her side, and rested there, facing him, while he loosely held her and focused on catching his breath with his eyes closed.

She was certain that he'd never intended to go to sleep like that. She was certain that he'd intended for them to speak. She was certain that he'd intended to, at the very least, turn off the lamp and fix the bed for the both of them.

She was certain that he would do all those things when he woke.

But for at least a few moments, he drifted off to sleep with his hands still holding onto Carol like he was afraid that she would somehow slip away while he slept. And, even though she'd fully intended to slip away and relieve herself, she decided that her bladder could wait just a little while longer so that he would see that she wasn't something ephemeral that would slip away while his eyes were closed.

When she did finally desperately have to go to the bathroom, she decided that she would wake him. She would invite him to bed. She would invite him to talk, if he liked to talk after everything that they'd just shared together, or she'd invite him to be quiet with her if that's what he preferred. She'd invite him to wash up with her and to fall asleep properly in the bed.

But, for now and for just a few moments, she would close her eyes and doze with him while he slept, holding onto her arms like she might somehow disappear while he dreamed.


	46. Chapter 46

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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It would still be some time before the sun came up, but it wasn't pitch black in the room. There had originally been a nightlight in a soap dish in the bathroom when they'd arrived, but Daryl had moved the light to the bedroom and plugged it in because Carol went back and forth between the bed and the bathroom a great deal, and he didn't want her tripping or running into things. The soft glow of the little bulb was relaxing, and it provided just enough light that Daryl didn't feel entirely alone with his thoughts.

He wasn't alone. At least, physically he wasn't alone.

Daryl's arm was completely numb. It hurt. He wanted to move it.

But more than he wanted to move it, he wanted her to stay there. Right there. Just like she was at that moment. He wanted her to keep sleeping, unaware that his arm was under her pillow. He wanted her to keep sleeping, unaware that he touched her at intervals because he liked the way she felt there beside him, and he liked having permission to touch her—and he had permission, at least, until the morning came. She may change her mind about it all with the light of day, but for now, she was sleeping next to him.

Daryl brushed his free hand over Carol's arm. Her skin was cool to the touch and he pulled the blanket up a little so that it would warm her if she was cold. She hadn't put any clothes on. They'd both gotten ready for bed, but she'd never put anything on. Daryl hadn't asked her to, either. He liked that she let him see her entirely. Under the blanket, Daryl ran his hand down until it rested on the swell of her belly.

The baby was awake. She'd been awake for a bit, but Carol hadn't stirred, so Daryl assumed she was immune to the kicks and punches of the little one. Sometimes Daryl caught her, and she brushed against his palm. It was always just a gentle nudge before she found a way to slip off again and hide away from his hand.

She brushed him once more and he resisted the urge to press a little harder in search of where she went. He didn't want to disturb Carol. He moved his hand just a little, searching her out, but he was careful to do nothing beyond the same types of movements that he'd been doing before. He found her again, and she nudged him. He smiled to himself and brushed his fingertips over the spot to pet her back, though he doubted she could feel him in the same way that he could feel her.

"You could talk to her, you know."

Daryl jumped and Carol laughed.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"Shit," Daryl breathed out. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

"I've been napping for a while," Carol said. "She keeps waking me up."

"You been awake some?" Daryl asked. Carol hummed. Daryl felt his face run warm. He'd been touching her the whole time he'd been awake. Arms, belly, sides—he'd been simply running his hand over her body. It felt less horrifying when he'd imagined she was asleep. "Sorry," he breathed out. His stomach tightened in discomfort over the thought of her almost certain disapproval.

"For what?" Carol asked.

"For—touchin' you," Daryl said.

Carol smiled at him. She reached her hand out and touched his face gently with her fingertips. He closed his eyes, for just a moment, to feel the touch better as her fingertips rubbed close to his temples.

"Don't apologize," Carol said. "I like it. And—she likes it, too."

"Long as you awake—can I have my arm back? Damned thing's been dead for hours."

"I'm sorry," Carol said. Daryl had to use his free hand to drag his dead arm free when she lifted enough to let him have it back. Immediately, she touched it, though Daryl could barely feel any touch on the arm. Slowly, the pin prickles started as it began to realize that it was going to be allowed blood flow once more. Her attempts to massage his hand back to life hurt a thousand times more than simply letting it wake naturally, but he liked her touching him, so he pretended it was fine.

"Don't say it," Daryl said. "You didn't know, and I didn't say."

"Why didn't you say?" Carol asked.

Daryl swallowed back his nervousness and shrugged his shoulders. He wasn't about to tell her that he wanted her to stay asleep so he could look at her and touch her to his heart's content. He didn't want to tell her that he was afraid, really, that she would change her mind about him and everything they'd done as soon as she woke up.

"It was OK," he offered. He moved his live hand back to her belly. He'd touched it enough, now, that he moved his hand there without thinking about it. It was only once he'd rested it there again, now that she was awake, that he worried that he might be overstepping just a bit. "This OK?" He asked.

Carol smiled at him.

"I like it," she assured him. "She likes it." She repeated.

"You don't know that," Daryl said.

"I think I do," Carol said.

"How?" Daryl asked.

Carol covered his hand with her own and gently pushed at his hand. He gave over control to her and he soon realized what she was doing. She was better at finding the little nudges and bumps than he was, and she quickly moved his fingers over the spot where he could detect some movement. He kept his hand there and the same thing happened again.

"She jumpin' or…?"

"I think she has the hiccups," Carol said. "Maybe. It's regular and it's—it's just like a little hiccup." She smiled to herself. "Maybe she got too excited and she gave herself the hiccups."

"What would she get excited about?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself.

"You were playing with her," Carol said. "Playing chase or catch or something. Maybe—she got excited from the game. I told you. She likes it. How's your hand?"

Carol returned her hands to Daryl's other arm. In a movement that he didn't expect, but fully appreciated, she brought his hand to her mouth and gently kissed his fingertips. He didn't expect, at all, the rush that he felt in his chest over such an unusual and unexpected gesture.

He nearly said something that he could have never taken back—something from which he would have never recovered once she heard the words and realized how truly fast his mind could move.

Such a simple gesture shouldn't have driven him to have such a profound thought, and he already knew what his brother would say.

Many a man had confused love for getting his dick wet.

But it was more than that.

"Hand's fine," Daryl said, instead. His heart actually felt like it sunk a little in his chest. "How can you know if she likes something or not?"

Daryl pulled away and sat up to change his position. Carol propped herself on her elbow, but continued to face him. She'd pushed the blanket down to bare her belly to him, and she seemed entirely relaxed there, in front of him.

She ran her fingers over her belly and smiled to herself. She half-heartedly shrugged her shoulders.

"When I was pregnant with Sophia, she didn't move a lot," Carol said. "Oh—there were kicks and some movement, but not like this. I think this little one has moved more in an hour than Sophia moved in a month."

"Eatin' good," Daryl said. "Eatin' good an' growin' good. You heard the doctor. That's what she's doin'. Just like she's supposed to."

"That's my point, maybe," Carol said. "She likes it. She's happy. She's doing well."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"We know that, but it don't got shit to do with me or me touchin' you," Daryl said.

"Sophia knew when Ed was around," Carol said. "I'm certain she did. She would—she'd ball up really tight. Really tight and small and I'd feel her like here…like right here…like she was balled up on one side."

"Hidin'?" Daryl asked.

His stomach clenched in a way that surprised him as he imagined a tiny baby—probably no bigger than his hand—all drawn up like his fist and hiding in fear in her mama's belly. He didn't know if such a thing was possible, but it broke his heart to imagine a baby that might have been grown, just the same as this one was being grown now, in nothing but a practical stew of fear.

He wondered if he and Merle had been the same way.

"I think she was," Carol said. "She didn't move when Ed was around."

"Maybe it's 'cause you was stressin' an' so she was stressin' 'cause that's what your body told her to do," Daryl offered.

"I think so," Carol said. "I think—also—I think she knew what he sounded like. She knew his voice. Maybe she could hear his anger. So, she ran away from his sound. She hid from his sound."

"I'm sorry," Daryl offered.

"Don't be," Carol said.

"I don't—don't want her to be scared," Daryl said. "This one. I mean—I wouldn't have wanted Sophia to be scared but…"

"I know what you mean," Carol said. "Are you OK?"

Daryl realized that is face must give him away.

"Just—hard to hear, I guess," Daryl offered.

"I'm sorry," Carol apologized. Daryl laughed to himself.

"Harder for you to say," Daryl said. "It's your story. And—you gotta talk about her. Sophia, I mean. I just—don't want this one to be scared."

"I think that's my point," Carol said. "She's not. She's happy. She moves around all the time. She stretches out. She's playing with you. She's not scared of you. She's happy you're there—that you're touching her." She smiled to herself. "She likes it. If she didn't, I feel like I would know."

Daryl didn't know if it was true, but he liked the thought that it might be. He put his hand back on Carol's belly. She patted his hand.

"She's stopped," Carol said.

"Napping?" Daryl asked.

"Maybe," Carol said. "Maybe she's just resting. You should talk to her."

"You think she can really hear?" Daryl asked.

"I know she can," Carol assured him. "I told you, I'm certain that Sophia was afraid of Ed's voice. She could hear him." She patted her belly, but her fingers really just patted against Daryl's since he hadn't moved his hand. "This little one never had to know what his voice sounded like. I don't think she could hear before he was gone."

"Good," Daryl said. "But—I'd feel kinda stupid if I was talkin' to her."

"Why?" Carol asked.

"Wouldn't know what to say," Daryl said.

"You can say whatever you want," Carol said. "She can hear us right now."

"She heard everything I was sayin' before?" Daryl asked. Suddenly, a wave of panic washed over him. "About—when I was talkin' about fuckin' you and when we brushed our teeth an' I told you that I liked eatin' your pussy?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"She heard it," Carol said. "But she didn't understand it. She just understood that—you were saying things that…that made me feel good."

"When you feel good, she feels good," Daryl offered.

Carol nodded.

"You could teach her things you wanted her to understand," Carol said. "If you said them a lot. Especially, I think, if you said them really nicely to her. The way that you wanted to say them to a baby."

"How the hell would she know I was talkin' to her if she can hear everything anyway?" Daryl asked.

He nipped at a piece of loose skin on his thumb. With his teeth, he chewed it away. Even though it stung, he continued to do it because he felt that the simple and slightly repetitive action was calming.

"You get closer to her," Carol said. "And then she'll know."

Daryl's heart drummed in his chest. This was, he could tell, an invitation to talk to the baby that Carol carried. It was an invitation to tell her something. To share with her something sweet and nice. Something she could sleep on, even. It was the chance to say things to her that would make her feel good.

Daryl liked the idea of children growing up with things that made them feel good.

Too damned many of them, he knew, had grown up like Sophia.

He felt a little silly, and his cheeks burned, but Daryl moved and leaned close to Carol's belly. As he got near to her, his instinct to kiss her belly kicked in and he did it—without asking permission, but Carol didn't correct him or seem to mind. In fact, she did something entirely unexpected, but so pleasant that it was worth any discomfort that Daryl might feel from embarrassment. She massaged her fingers into his hair and scratched affectionately at his scalp.

"Hey," Daryl said, fighting the embarrassment. Carol wasn't laughing at him. This didn't feel like a trick for her to get his goat. "You oughta go to sleep. If you were playin' with me, like your Ma said, then I liked it, too. But now's the time for sleepin' and not for playin'. We gotta sleep soon, too, because we both got work tomorrow. I'll tell you a secret. We gotta sleep, too, 'cause your Ma's gotta learn to hit a bullseye before she drives me crazy over it." Daryl laughed to himself when Carol tugged at his hair before she returned to scratching his scalp. Suddenly he didn't feel embarrassed and uncomfortable—he felt right. He felt happy. "Go to sleep," Daryl said. "And I'll play with you some more tomorrow, if you still want, I mean."

Daryl sat back up and looked at Carol. She was smiling at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

"How'd I do?" He asked.

"I think you did wonderfully," Carol said. She yawned. "If you think your arm can stand it, do you want to get some sleep?"

"Yeah," Daryl said.

He laid back down and was pleased when Carol moved right next to him and practically curled into him in search of a comfortable spot. Daryl eased his arm over her and, finding she didn't protest, pulled her a little tighter against him.

"Merle would give me hell if he knew I was talkin' to a baby that might not can hear me," Daryl offered.

Carol laughed to herself.

"I promise you that she can hear you," Carol said. "But we don't have to tell Merle or anybody. It can be our little secret for now."


	47. Chapter 47

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope that you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Carol slipped easily back off to sleep, but Daryl found that he could do little more than doze. He lay there for a while and dozed at intervals—each time opening an eye, when he began to get restless, just to see if the sun was starting to lighten the sky, and each time finding that it was just as dark as before—until he couldn't stand to stay still any longer and his throat felt parched.

He eased out of the bed, found his boxer shorts, and then found his jeans. He stepped into both, pulled a white t-shirt over his head that Carol had brought him from the community storage, and padded barefoot from the room, snagging his cigarettes and lighter from the windowsill as he went by.

The house had running water, and they were certain it was clean enough for bathing and even for brushing their teeth, but they tended to boil that which they intended to actually consume as a safety measure.

In the kitchen, Daryl helped himself to a glass from the jug of clean water. He drank it down in a few long and satisfied swallows. His thirst was mostly quenched by the glass of water, but he refilled it anyway and took the second glass with him as he made his way through the house.

In the living room, he paused a moment and picked up the pillows they'd left on the floor. He tossed them on the couch to keep someone from stumbling over them in the dark. He slid the game boxes under the coffee table with his foot to clear the walkway.

Then he quietly passed through to the front door, opened it, and stepped out onto the porch. He selected his favorite rocking chair and sat down in it. His glass of water went on the small table between the chairs, and he lit a cigarette before he leaned back and hummed in satisfaction at the absolutely perfect life he felt—at that exact moment—he'd somehow stumbled into leading.

Carol was sleeping in the other room. The marriage they pretended to have was, honestly, fiction, but the relationship wasn't entirely fiction. She'd spent much of the night tangled up with him in the bed and he was under no impression—even if he didn't dare to put the words out into the air—that his feelings for her weren't very real and very different than anything else he'd ever felt before. He might not have a wife, exactly, but he had something with a woman that he cared for more than he ever expected to care for anyone, and that was something that made him feel warm and relaxed.

Beyond that, she carried a child who wasn't his child at all. He was under no impression that the child could possibly be his because she'd been quite swollen by the pregnancy before he'd ever even touched her. But it was a child that, at the very least, he could care for. He could watch the child grow. Even if it could never be his, he could love it, and that was something.

He had a home now—a nicer home than he'd ever dreamed of having in a world that was lost to memory and consumed by some kind of plague that, honestly, he was afraid to admit was beginning to seem like some kind of horrible blessing to him. He had steady work within the community to keep his mind sharp and his hands busy.

And he had a nice porch with rocking chairs to sit on while he waited for the Earth to roll over enough that the sun could become visible over the horizon. Already, there was the faintest bit of light in the darkness around him that let him know that, somewhere not too far away, the sun was already visible to whoever might be looking for it. It wouldn't be too long before she peeked at him from the horizon.

When Carol woke, he'd take her to breakfast. He'd leave her with Andrea, more than likely, after the meal and they'd go off to do their assigned duties while Daryl slipped off to take care of whatever tasks came up on his list. Then, before lunch, they'd slip down to the woods to practice with Carol's aim—and the whole wonderful, repetitive, mundane, amazing day would continue on from there.

Daryl was reveling in the feeling of a perfect morning when he heard the door click behind him as someone turned the knob slowly and with purpose. Whoever was coming to join him on the porch didn't want to disturb the rest of the household.

It could be Carol, slipping out to see if she could find him since he'd left the bed without waking her and telling her where he was going.

It could be T-Dog, up early and coming to see the sun rise like Daryl.

Daryl decided that, if it was T-Dog, he'd share with him the secret of the relationship that he and Carol were enjoying—even if they had no proper name for it. He'd thank him, even, for arranging it so that their fantasy could become, at least to some degree, a reality.

He would let the man know that he considered himself in his debt for doing something so unexpectedly good.

Daryl turned partly in his chair to see who might emerge from the door, but he was surprised to see it was neither Carol nor T-Dog.

She didn't see him there until she'd closed the door behind her, easing it shut as gently as she'd opened it. It was clear that she hadn't intended to be heard by anyone. She was carrying her boots in her hand. Daryl didn't know if that was because she was making some kind of hasty escape, or if it was simply because she wanted to reduce the sound of her movements on the wooden floor of the house.

As she turned, Daryl smiled to himself. He saw the start when she noticed him there. If it had been pitch black, the end of the cigarette he was finishing would have given him away. As it was, the sun was becoming visible on the horizon—the tiniest sliver of orange—and there was a glow to the world around them that would have made him clear to her eyes.

"Sit down," Daryl said, reaching a hand out to rock the unoccupied rocker next to him. "Put'cha boots on. Unless—you in that much of a hurry."

The woman—Michonne—looked around her like she expected to see a whole herd of people closing in on the house to catch her with her boots in her hand. Daryl laughed to himself.

"You caught already," he offered. "It don't make sense to start checkin' for snares once you done put your foot in one."

The woman sighed. Maybe there was even a hint of a growl to the sound. Daryl patted the arm of the rocker again and it rocked back and forth in response.

With shoulders slumped slightly forward, the woman eased herself into the rocker.

Standing on guard with a katana strapped across her back, or even caging around the community like she was ready to strike at any moment, she was an imposing figure. She looked large—maybe even larger than life. She looked fierce and strong and powerful.

Sitting in the rocking chair next to Daryl with her boots in her lap and no katana in sight, she simply looked like a woman—and she was really a rather small-framed woman at that.

"I like the human you better," Daryl said before his brain had even had time to commit to the words. He winced at his own statement even as he heard it leaving his lips.

Michonne furrowed her brow at him and a bit of that ferocious look she wore at almost all times returned.

"What did you say?" She growled.

Daryl laughed to himself out of nervousness as much as anything else.

"Meant—you just seemed human for a minute there," Daryl said. "Like everybody else. Not like some kinda angry warrior god stompin' her way through the world."

Michonne softened a little, clearly accepting Daryl's explanation, and sunk back into her chair.

"You can put your boots on," Daryl offered. "Unless—you just like walkin' around barefoot."

Michonne accepted the offer and set about putting on her boots—producing socks from the toes of the shoes. She did so in silence—the way she seemed to do most things—and Daryl watched her. He lit another cigarette.

"You angry?" He asked.

"What?" Michonne asked.

"You walk around like you angry all the time," Daryl said. "So—you angry all the time? Or that's just how you're put together?"

Michonne considered it a long moment and Daryl let her. He had nowhere to go and the world wasn't quite awake yet.

"I guess—maybe I am angry," Michonne said. "Not all the time, but…"

"Close enough," Daryl supplied when she broke off. She hummed. "I used to be pretty fuckin' pissed off all the time, too."

"Not anymore?" Michonne asked.

Daryl smiled to himself and drew in a breath. He checked in with himself a moment before he answered her, wanting to be certain that he wasn't lying.

"Not really," Daryl said. "Come to think of it, it's been a while since I was really pissed off. What makes you so angry?" Michonne pursed her lips at him and narrowed her eyes. He accepted it with a nod. "We all got our secrets," he offered. She didn't respond, but her features softened. That was response enough, really.

"What changed?" Michonne asked. Daryl hummed at her in question. "You used to be angry. Now you're not. Most people are angry these days—about one thing or another. What changed? For you? Why aren't you angry anymore?"

Daryl smiled to himself. He shrugged his shoulders and took a draw from his cigarette before, realizing how rude he'd been, he offered her the pack. She shook her head and waved away his offer, but at least he knew that he'd extended the invitation to her to join him.

"Between you and me?" Daryl said. Michonne shrugged and nodded. Daryl's stomach tightened a little. Even if she told his secret, it wouldn't shock too many people there. They believed he was married, after all. And if she told Carol—maybe it would just help him to finally say everything he felt like got hung in his throat. "Carol," he said.

"You've been together a long time?" Michonne asked.

"Not long enough," Daryl answered without hesitation. "But I really do think Carol's the reason I'm not so angry anymore."

"She makes you that happy?" Michonne asked. Everything about her softened visibly. She relaxed. Her boots were on now and, her hands hung limply over the arms of the chair. She sat back and even allowed the rocker to rock back and forth.

Daryl nodded his head.

"And she deserves that I'm not angry," Daryl said. "She don't deserve to have to live her whole fuckin' life with angry. Livin' with angry all the damned time is hell for anyone."

"Even the person who's angry," Michonne offered.

Daryl hummed his consideration.

"You didn't ask me," Daryl said, "but I'ma say what the hell I got to say just the same…"

Michonne laughed, interrupting him.

"I see the resemblance between you and your brother," she offered.

Daryl laughed quietly in response to her statement.

"T's a decent kinda guy," Daryl offered. "I don't know what the hell you're angry about—and I respect the fact that you don't wanna tell me. Just—thought you oughta know that T's a decent kinda guy. In case your sneakin' around was you wonderin' whether or not you'd done gone an' put your foot in a pile of shit."

Michonne hummed in her throat. She pushed forward and got to her feet like she'd only just remembered that she was leaving the house under cover of darkness and the quickly rising sun was erasing any hope she had of doing just that.

"You said it yourself," Michonne offered. "Living with angry all the damned time is hell for anyone. Nobody deserves that. Least of all the decent kind of guys."

"It's also worthwhile to let somebody make their own choices," Daryl offered. "Just 'cause you angry today don't mean that it's gotta last forever. You can decide not to be pissed the fuck off."

Daryl thought he saw, for just the flash of a second, a smile tug at the corners of her mouth instead of the scowl. She glanced, briefly, back at the door before she stepped onto the top step like she was about to truly take her leave of Daryl.

"You at least tell him you was goin'?" Daryl asked.

"He knows," Michonne said. "I'd just rather—nobody else knew. Not yet."

Daryl swallowed back his smile.

"Does 'not yet' mean I'm likely to run into you again when I can't sleep?" Daryl asked. Michonne hesitated and shrugged her shoulders, clearly not even committed to the non-committal act. Daryl nodded. "Don't worry," he said. "I'm pretty damn good at keepin' secrets."


	48. Chapter 48

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Carol and Andrea would have work for days filling planter boxes with soil from the stacked-up bags hauled in from a run and arranging sprouting plants that had been started from seeds. The planter boxes would go into the new greenhouses that were being finished up some short distance away, and they would add to the food that the community had. It was easy work. It was steady and quiet. The two women could do it without a problem, and their dedication to the planting freed up hands for a dozen other activities that were taking place all over the Cedar Falls Community.

Andrea was a bit wound up. She was talking a mile a minute, and Carol didn't mind one bit. She liked the chance to sit back, work on something that kept her hands busy, and listen to someone entertain her with their thoughts and experiences.

The first little while of the conversation wasn't exactly Earth-shattering. Andrea told Carol about some runs they were planning. She told Carol about what she'd overheard Merle discussing with a few members of the community that had come by to, essentially, pitch ideas that they had for improvement. She talked about Merle's excitement over having Daryl there and his thoughts that, together, they could really stock up on cured meat to last through the winter so that they weren't forced to butcher their growing animal stock down to the bare minimum.

And then, slowly, the discussion turned from community talk to personal talk.

"He's just so happy to have his brother back, you know?"

Carol smiled to herself.

"Daryl's happy to have Merle back, too," Carol said. "He thought he was dead."

"I guess Merle at least had the chance to believe that Daryl was out there somewhere—living a good life." She laughed to herself. "He never thought he'd be married, though, with a baby on the way. You know—I mean I saw it, though. Back then. I really did."

"You didn't," Carol teased.

"I did!" Andrea insisted. "I think—by the CDC? I knew what was going on. Merle said he saw it earlier. He said he really thought, once or twice, that Daryl was going to press the boundaries of acceptable behavior at the rock quarry and kill Ed. He figured that Shane probably would have let it happen, but he would have had to have acted before Rick got there. Merle figures that anyone who would handcuff him to a roof and leave him there would probably kill Daryl for killing an asshole like Ed."

Carol's stomach flipped at the thought of Daryl caring enough about her, at the rock quarry even, to have killed Ed. Her face grew warm.

Could Merle have really seen something back then? Was there something to see back then? What about Andrea? How long had Carol been letting her feelings show on her face and in her actions? Had there been more there for Daryl?

It was fascinating to think about it, especially in light of what they seemed to have very recently found with each other. It seemed almost too good to be true, though. Even though she wanted to talk about all her new feelings and, more than new feelings—since she'd had feelings for Daryl for a good while—the new developments taking place in her life, Carol was limited as to what she could say.

Because Andrea and Merle didn't know their secret. They believed that the relationship had been going on since Ed's death. They had to believe that Daryl would have planted the seed of the baby that Carol carried even before they'd even left for the CDC. They didn't know the truth.

"Rick might have killed Daryl for killing Ed," Carol agreed.

Andrea hummed.

"All the while declaring that we don't kill the living, right?" Andrea offered with a hint of laughter. Carol hummed, but she didn't add words to the conversation. There was no need for it. She and Andrea had both been there. They'd both seen the struggle that Rick was clearly facing—the struggle he'd shown to everyone around him.

Andrea had been left behind. And Rick, honestly, had been the voice that had stressed to Daryl that they couldn't—wouldn't—go back for her.

But Carol didn't feel the need to say that to Andrea. Not right now. It wasn't necessary.

"He killed Shane," Carol said. "Maybe he had to. Shane was crazy."

"We're all crazy now," Andrea said, somewhat nonchalantly, especially given the truth behind the statement and the implications behind that truth. "Merle's so happy to have his baby brother back. He thinks it's a chance to—make amends, I guess. You know?"

"Amends?" Carol asked.

"Well—I guess, maybe not amends. But—he's changed. A lot."

"I think we can all see that," Carol said with a laugh.

"He wants to make it up to Daryl that he wasn't what he wishes he had been," Andrea said.

"I think Daryl accepts that—the past is the past," Carol said. "I can't speak for him, really, but between the two of us? He hasn't been…well…exactly focused on his brother's shortcomings since we got here."

"Merle would be happy to know that," Andrea said. "I think—a lot of that is why he's so excited about the whole family thing. The baby. He feels like they missed out on family. They missed out on the chance to have something stable. Dependable. I think just the idea of having that? That's what's changed Merle so much. He likes having boundaries. He doesn't want me to like—control him. He doesn't want everything to be restrictions, but he likes having boundaries. He knows—I'm not going to deal with the drugs. I'm not going to deal with the bullshit. I'll yank the rug out from under him if he makes me, but he also knows that's not what I want. And I know that's not—it's not what he wants."

"He wants a family," Carol said, echoing the sentiment behind Andrea's words as her mind rolled around the fact that Daryl, too, may be very much like his brother in all the ways that really mattered.

"He wants a family so bad he can taste it," Andrea said. "Just—a family. Like a 'Leave it to Beaver' family. And, I guess, since he never got to be Beaver, he's OK being Ward." She laughed. "It's a hundred percent not who the hell Merle is, but it's also—it's exactly who he is. And that doesn't make any sense at all."

"He is who he was raised to be, maybe," Carol said. "He is what he saw and experienced and—we're all who our lives taught us to be."

Andrea smoothed the dirt around one of the small plants she gently nestled into her planter box.

"I'm not the goody-two-shoes my parents raised me to be," she mused. "I mean—I guess I am. I guess I was. As much as I could be. I just wanted to do everything right. For them. I wanted to be what they wanted me to be. They wanted me to be so—perfect. And I worked all the damn time to be that perfect. I thought I did pretty well. I thought I was doing everything right. And then Amy was born and—she was so perfect. Their perfect little princess. She never disappointed them like I did." Andrea sighed. "I regret not being the big sister that she wanted—that she deserved. It wasn't her fault. But sometimes I just had to stay away from it. I knew they loved me, but—I was always going to be Andrea. The kid they experimented on. The kid they fucked up with or something. I was never going to be the miracle baby born after Mom was sure there wouldn't be any more children. Amy—the little princess who never made a mistake."

Carol considered Andrea's words for a moment. It was clear that she wasn't saying them for any sort of sympathy. She wasn't saying them because she wanted Carol to respond in any way. She was simply speaking her truth—or at least part of it. She was reminding Carol that there was an Andrea that had existed long before the rock quarry. There was an Andrea that had existed outside of the realm of their reality.

There was a secret self, of sorts, to all of them. And they all had pasts that, maybe, they'd rather had gone differently.

The end of the world was, in some ironic way, a new beginning for all of them if they embraced it.

"I was Carol Ann," Carol mused to herself. "The only one who made it. My mom tried—I remember at least two other times. I think she got—she made it at least far enough that I remember she was showing. But the babies came early and they never came home. I don't remember funerals, but I'm sure there were funerals. She was so sad. She used to tell me that—the God-given purpose of a woman was to make her husband happy. To bring children into the world and to make a home. A woman that did that was a successful woman. Marry him. Make him happy. Serve him. It's your purpose. Have his children and raise them right. Build a home worth being proud of. So, I married a football player like everybody would have wanted and I did exactly what he wanted. I was modest and humble and I served him just like my Mama would have wanted. She understood when we moved so far away that nobody would know us there. She understood when I couldn't come see her when she got sick, because I had a home to run and a husband to keep happy. I never told her how he treated me because—that was my lot in life, right? And he was stressed, so I shouldn't hold it against him. I didn't go to her funeral. Or Daddy's. I didn't even see him in the time between—when she died and when he just gave up."

"Carol…" Andrea breathed out. "And here I am—feeling sorry for myself because…because what? My parents didn't fucking hug me enough? I'm sorry."

"I didn't tell you that for sympathy," Carol said with a laugh. "I guess—I told you that because…you let me meet Andrea. The little girl who didn't get hugged enough."

Andrea laughed to herself and clearly wiped away some tears from her face—leaving a smear of dirt in their place.

"I'm going to hug my baby all the time," Andrea said. "Every day. And I don't care if our little jellybean is good at everything or…fails at everything they try. I'm still going to hug them."

"And so will Merle. And I'm going to teach my daughter that—I hope she finds someone to love. I do. Because love—real love? It's so wonderful. But she doesn't have to love anyone that doesn't know how to love her back."

Andrea smiled.

"I think Daryl would agree with that." She worked a moment more in her box, and Carol moved to a new box to poke holes for the proper spacing of her seedlings. Andrea spoke after the silence had settled in around them. "I worry that Merle's going to—be Merle again. Sometimes. I know that's…stupid, but…we change, but we're still who we are."

"You told him what you won't accept," Carol offered.

"I mean that he'll change his mind about me," Andrea said. She laughed to herself. "I won't be what he wants anymore, you know? What if I'm not one of those women who—after the baby comes—what if I'm not one of those women whose body goes back to what it was? I'm not someone who looks—like they did. After the baby comes. What if I look like a deflated balloon for the rest of my life and he doesn't want that?"

"You mean—what if you're not perfect?" Carol asked.

Somewhere inside of her, she felt insecurity, that she'd somewhat lulled into dormancy, stretch and roll over as it roused itself to rise again. She swallowed back against it, for the time being, like ignoring it would make it go away. Instead, she tried to focus on fighting it by fighting the dragon she knew Andrea was facing—even if she knew it wasn't that simple.

Andrea looked at her and, for just a moment, Carol thought she could see a much younger Andrea looking back at her from the slightly damp green eyes that fixed on hers.

Carol forced a smile.

"No matter what—Hollywood or plastic people told you," Carol said. "Nobody's body goes back to being exactly what it was before. It has to change because you're—you're making a whole new human being. And, maybe, there will be even more human beings to come after that."

Andrea shrugged her shoulders.

"What if Merle doesn't understand that?"

Carol nodded her understanding.

"Is Merle perfect?" Carol asked.

Andrea laughed to herself.

"No," she admitted, shaking her head at the flower box. Carol couldn't help but notice the two dragon tears that dropped from her eyes to water the plants that Andrea was lovingly burying in the soil she shoveled from a nearby bucket with a hand trowel.

"Do you still love him?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Andrea offered.

"Then give him the chance to do the same," Carol said, wishing, honestly, that she could believe her own advice with the same confidence that Andrea showed as she smiled to herself.


	49. Chapter 49

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Close your eyes."

Carol's heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She could feel Daryl's body pressed flushed against hers. The nearness of him always sent her heart skipping into an irregular beat.

Her daughter responded to her reaction.

_Her daughter_.

Carol wasn't sure she'd ever get used to the idea. She wasn't sure she'd ever fully believe it, either, until she saw her face.

"Jesus—you're stiff as a board," Daryl said. "You scared of me? Just relax."

"I'm sorry," Carol said quietly.

His hands touched her. His body rested against hers. His head rested gently on her shoulder.

"Shhhh," he hissed softly, in a soothing manner. "Just relax. Breathe. You gotta breathe. I know you need it and—I'm pretty sure she does, too. Does she? Do you like—how does that work? Do you breathe for her?"

Carol laughed.

She did relax. He didn't move. He stayed right there, against her, but she relaxed. She appreciated that, no matter how much her own mind could work her into knots and tangles, Daryl was able to unwind the snares.

"I weren't joking," Daryl offered when he laughed quietly in response, his body shaking hers. "I was serious. How does she breathe?"

"She gets oxygen through—well, through my blood, I think," Carol said. "Or maybe—the umbilical cord? The placenta? I'm not sure. But she gets it from me. Her lungs probably aren't fully formed yet. They aren't ready yet. That's why—if something were to happen? If something happened and she came now? She probably wouldn't make it out here. She wouldn't be ready to breathe."

He dropped one hand from her arm and, reaching around her, patted her belly.

"Then we'll keep her in there," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "And now that you're both breathin' again—and without tensin' up at all 'cause it don't matter one way or another—I want you to focus. Aim. And let go of your bolt."

Carol's body tensed naturally and regardless of what Daryl requested. As close to her as he was, she was sure he felt it, too. She tried to will herself to relax, but it would never happen. She aimed carefully, but when she released the arrow, it still landed firmly outside of the area she'd designated as her bullseye.

And she felt her whole self practically deflate.

She dropped her shoulders and, almost immediately, Daryl turned her around and held her by the shoulders.

"It don't matter," he said. "Just a thing."

"It's always just a thing," Carol said. "Until—something happens and I need to hit something and I'm four inches to the left of my target."

Daryl laughed.

"Someone's lied to you a hell of a lot about what an inch is," Daryl said. "If everybody measured the way you do, and that was four inches? My damn dick would be like two an' a half feet long. Listen, that's no more'n an inch off your target." She frowned at him, and he kissed her. She accepted the kiss, but barely returned it. Her heart, for the moment, was too heavy with disappointment. It was a silly way to feel, but she felt worse than she'd felt before about missing her target. She foolishly felt tears stinging at her eyes, but there was nothing she could do about it. Daryl's thumb brushed away the tear that escaped and he smiled. His other hand dropped and warmly cupped the underside of her belly. "She's goin' wild in there."

Carol nodded her head.

"Yeah," she breathed out. He wiped her face again. Another tear had sprung forth to take the place of the one he wiped away. She was almost angry at him for how amused he looked at the moment. How soft he looked. "You hit everything you aim at," she growled. His eyebrows raised and, for half a second, he looked surprised by her frustration. Then the half-smile settled back onto his face. He had moved neither hand—not the one half-supporting the weight of the baby rolling in her belly, nor the one that was working like a lazy windshield-wiper that was flicking away her tears of frustration.

"I don't hit a lot of shit I aim at," Daryl said. "Difference is—I'm not quite as squirrely as you are."

Immediately, the comment drew to mind images of some shifty person slinking around in a nineteen forties' crime drama. Carol honestly wasn't sure whether to laugh or be offended.

"I'm not squirrely! "She protested.

"You are," Daryl said.

"I'm not some kind of like—sneaky criminal," Carol said. Now she had no choice but to laugh at the image in her mind, and Daryl broke every touch that had held them connected a moment as he laughed, too.

"Not that kinda squirrely," he offered. "I mean—squirrely. Like a squirrel. He held up his hand at her and waved it like he meant to distract her from any growing annoyance she might feel. "You ever really watched squirrels?"

Carol sighed.

"I've seen squirrels before," Carol said.

"I didn't say have you seen a squirrel," Daryl said. "Hell—I know you've seen 'em. We've been tryin' to shoot 'em for about an hour now. I'm askin' you if you've ever watched 'em. Just sat down somewhere and watched 'em for a while."

Carol laughed to herself.

"You've watched a lot of squirrels, I take it?" She asked.

"As a matter of fact, I have," Daryl said. "They're always tense. Always—lookin' out for what's comin' next. Even when they're eatin' or just sittin' around like there's nothin' goin' on? They're lookin' back and forth. Ready to run. This way, and that way, and every which way, all at the same time."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm every which way, all at the same time?" She asked.

He smiled.

"You are," he said. "But mostly—you're always lookin' out for what's comin' next. Always tense."

"Aren't you always thinking about what's coming next?" Carol asked.

"It's different," Daryl offered. "Out there? It's good to be a little squirrely. Difference between stayin' alive and endin' up dead. In here?"

"You're not always thinking about what's coming next?" Carol asked.

"Not the same way," Daryl said. "I think—I hope—I kinda know what's comin' next. But I'm trying to stop running back and forth, always looking over my shoulder. That don't mean I got to let my guard down completely, but there's nothing wrong with relaxing just a little. Maybe—if you aren't too damn attached to hoppin' all over the place, you could relax a little, too. Might be good for you and her both."

"I'm relaxed," Carol said quickly. Daryl laughed to himself.

"You ain't," he offered. "You wanna know what I think? I think you can't hit your target 'cause you can't relax. You're too squirrely."

"That's not a thing," Carol said.

"Or, maybe you're too scared of killin' one of your own kind?" Daryl teased.

Carol couldn't help but laugh.

"Stop it," she commanded. "Now you're going to make me not want to hit them."

Daryl smiled.

"Gotta hunt the squirrels," he said. "Damn things'll takeover. I mean what I said, though. You're too wound up. The minute you aim, you start overthinking. I can practically see the smoke comin' outta your ears. I can see you twitchin'. You tense up. Sure you won't hit the target. Sure you'll never hit the target. You so damn tense that you jerk your arm this way or that—always. It's a self-fulfillin' prophecy." Carol recognized some truth in what Daryl was saying. He frowned at her and gently shrugged his shoulders. "You see your failure before you even start."

Carol frowned.

"I never hit it," Carol said.

"Nobody does until they do," Daryl offered.

"I just know I'm not going to hit it," Carol said. "I can't. I won't. Not today and not tomorrow…and then I just think that…I'm never going to hit it. I'm never going to be able to really do anything useful. And then Ed was right. I'm just—a burden. Taking and taking…like a parasite."

"Hey!" Daryl barked. Carol's head shot in his direction in surprise at the loud noise. He smiled at her. It was more a smile of comfort than actual amusement. He moved back toward her and caught her shoulders. "Hey—no. Run up some other tree, squirrel, but don't run up that one."

Whether he meant to or not, he made Carol laugh.

"Asshole," she muttered at him. He hugged her. He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed.

"You're lucky I like squirrels," Daryl said. "A lot. Because I just landed right into a nest of 'em. You and—she's pretty squirrely, too. All over the damned place."

Carol was sure that, as tight against her as he was, he could feel the baby. Carol could feel her, uncomfortably, as the little girl practiced whatever acrobatics entertained her when she was awake.

Carol didn't say anything. She simply sighed and returned the hug, sinking happily into the comfort of it. Sensing, perhaps, that she needed it, Daryl didn't break it for a while. He simply stood there, holding her, long after her bow dropped to the ground so that she could wrap her arms around him.

"I don't want you to see me as a burden," Carol said.

"Jesus," Daryl muttered. "If he weren't dead, and Georgia weren't like four states away? I'd kill him again. You ain't no burden. You ain't never been a burden since I've known you. And I'm a hundred percent sure you weren't no burden then. Andrea ain't out here huntin' squirrels. You think she's a burden?"

Daryl pushed Carol at arms' length to look at her, but he didn't take his hands off her shoulders.

"It's different," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Only because it don't compute with the damn fuckery that Ed pumped into your head," Daryl said. "Listen—and I want you to listen to me good. If you never hit a single damn squirrel, you ain't no burden. There's a thousand ways to contribute that don't got shit to do with aim. And that's what you're gonna teach her, too."

Carol smiled to herself when Daryl pointed determinedly at her belly.

"You're worried about her self-esteem?" Carol asked.

"I just think—she oughta know she's not a burden," Daryl said. "And she's got a thousand ways to add to this place. And—I don't think she oughta have anything that he would've wanted to teach her."

Carol noticed that Daryl—for all his insistence, perhaps, that he wasn't squirrely here—tensed a little. He rubbed at the back of his neck.

"Even though it ain't my call," he added, letting the words hang heavily and somewhat awkwardly in the air around them.

"I think—it's your call," Carol offered.

"Can I ask you something?" Daryl asked after a moment.

"Can I—refuse to answer it?" Carol asked.

"If you really don't want to," Daryl ceded. "But—I'd rather you did. Don't—just don't look like you ready to bolt." He laughed to himself. "OK, Squirrel?"

Carol laughed in response. She was grateful, though, that it helped to unknot some of the concern that was tightening her muscles.

"Asshole," she repeated. His smile only grew in response. "Fine," she ceded. "What is it?"

"Are you scared of Alice?" Daryl asked.

"What?" Carol asked. The question had truly come from left field. She hadn't expected it at all.

"Alice," Daryl said. "The doctor. You scared of her? Because you're real nervous around her and you didn't want to go see her before. Has she done something to you?"

"I hardly know her," Carol said with a laugh. "And—I think other than a 'hello,' here or there, you've been with me every time I've seen her."

"Some other doctor hurt you, then?" Daryl asked. "That's why you're scared of her?"

"Ed hated when I went to the doctor," Carol said. "Doctors were nosy. They asked questions about bruises, and cuts, and burns. They wanted to know about injuries, especially those that were recurring. Ed hated doctors getting nosy. Whatever sent me to the doctor was never as bad as what was going to be waiting on me when I got home—and he came with me, when I did go, so I was always terrified to say or do the wrong thing."

Daryl nodded his head and chewed at his thumb.

"Does it make you nervous if I'm there?" Daryl asked. "Would it be better for you an' her if I didn't go and you just—went and told me what you want me to know? If you want me to know anything…I know it really…it's your business."

Carol shook her head.

"I like you being there," she said.

"You know—I want you to tell the doctor, well, like everything you gotta tell her. And if you want me to go? I mean—you just say it and I'll go. But I won't never be pissed about nothin' you tell her. Even if you—tell her I'm an asshole. Maybe she needs to know it. Hell, maybe I need to know it…if it's true."

Carol smiled at him.

"You are an asshole," she said. "But the best kind of asshole. And—I want you there."

"But you're still nervous," Daryl said.

Carol nodded her head.

"Old habits die hard," she said.

"And old fuckin' beliefs die harder," Daryl said.

"Are you mad that…he's still in my head?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Daryl said. "I'm pissed the fuck off that he was ever there to begin with. But—I ain't pissed at you. And I know he ain't never gonna shut up. Not completely. I just hope—he shuts up a lil' bit."

"He already is," Carol said. "Sometimes. About some things. He's shutting up a little more each day."

Daryl stared at her. His eyes darted quickly back and forth.

"What's different?" He asked.

Carol smiled to herself.

"You are," she assured him. She saw it flash in his eyes. She knew it without him having to say a thing. He had his own voice. It was a voice who told him that he couldn't make a difference. He couldn't be anyone as important as he actually was to her. He was so important to her. "You—make all the difference. A little more each day."

He continued to stare at her. He was hearing the voice. Maybe he was trying to quiet it. Carol stared back at him. She didn't break their line of sight. She didn't want him to think she was bluffing him in any way.

She saw when he relaxed. When his jaw relaxed.

"Then you gotta believe me," he said. "You ain't no burden. And neither is she."

Carol smiled to herself.

"I believe you," she said.

"Then say it," Daryl pressed.

"I believe that—I'm not a burden. To you. And—neither is she."

"It's a start," Daryl said. "And you gonna hit your target one day. Ain't gonna be today, but—you gonna hit it."

"If you insist," Carol said. Daryl leaned down and picked up her bow for her without her having to ask him. She could get it, but it was much easier for him. He fetched her quiver and the few stray bolts that lie around from her practice. "We're stopping?"

"We done enough damage here," Daryl said. "And besides—I told Merle we'd have dinner with 'em. Somethin' special. At their house insteada the mess hall."

Daryl started walking, but Carol took a moment to realize they were really leaving. She got stuck, for just a moment, thinking about the fact that they were about to have some kind of family dinner and she'd just been told about it.

"You weren't going to tell me about—dinner with Merle?" Carol asked.

"I know how jumpy you get about things," Daryl said. "I was just keepin' it a secret 'til after target practice so you didn't get extra tense. You mad?"

Daryl stopped and looked back at her over his shoulder. He stopped.

"What if I—do something wrong?" Carol asked.

Daryl laughed.

"It's supper with Merle," Daryl said. "Unless you gonna like—turn the whole damned table over or shit on the floor, I don't think you can do anything wrong. And even then, he's only half liable to notice." He held out an arm in her direction, the other loaded down with her things. "It ain't nothin' but a meal. Come on, Squirrel," he teased. "Let's you an' me go get washed up for supper."

Carol laughed to herself, happy for the lightness that he was willing to offer her. She doubled her steps for just a moment, slipped under his arm, and happily let him drop it over her shoulder to pull her close as they walked.


	50. Chapter 50

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"The man is damn near a genius," Merle said. "Andrea—you pass me them potatoes, Sugar?"

Carol had been tense at first, but she was slowly relaxing.

Everything with Daryl—whatever that everything may actually be—was so very new that she didn't want to do anything to mess things up. Merle Dixon, at least the Merle Dixon that sat across the table from her and ran the Cedar Falls Community, was a very observant man—much like the man he affectionately called "baby brother" with regularity, especially when he forgot that they might be being observed—and Carol worried that, somehow, he might see through their ruse.

She had no idea how they would handle the explanation that they'd lied about being married and, even though they could say that things had taken a turn toward the positive, she wasn't sure how Merle would take knowing that he'd been lied to. Of course, at some point, Carol knew the truth was sure to come out, but she hoped that they would have a little time to at least prepare themselves for how they wanted to handle things.

She'd been tense when they first got to the cabin, and she'd even been tense when they'd first settled around the table, but she was beginning to relax now.

Merle wanted to talk about the community, and Carol and Daryl were happy to hear more about it and the hope that he had for their future.

Merle was still finishing his meal, as evidenced by his acceptance of the serving bowl of potatoes and the addition of another large scoop to his plate, but the rest of them were done—relaxing back in their chairs as their food digested over conversation.

The one greatest contributor to Carol's relaxation, more than likely, came from the fact that Daryl was casually resting his hand on her thigh like it was a practice he'd had for the past ten or twenty years, and not at all like their relationship—however they might define what was happening in their lives now—was practically brand new.

"I haven't met him yet," Daryl offered.

"You won't, either," Andrea said with a laugh. "At least—not until he has a reason to come outside."

"Recluse?" Daryl asked.

"Tied up to his projects," Merle said. "Like some kinda mad scientist, except it's like—electric shit and machines that fascinate the hell outta him."

"He's nearly impossible to talk to," Andrea said.

"Because he's so smart?" Carol asked. Andrea shrugged her shoulders in response.

"I consider myself fairly intelligent," Andrea said. "I consider everyone at this table to be intelligent. Michonne. Eugene is just…"

"He's a different kinda animal," Merle offered around a mouthful of mashed potatoes that he'd smothered in the gravy that he assumed no one else—all showing evidence of having abandoned their meals entirely—was going to mind if he finished. "I'm not sure if he ain't wired a little bit differently. Friendly enough—asshole's got himself a mullet, even. But the son of a bitch can take twenty minutes to tell you somethin' that shoulda took like two an' a half."

"Still," Andrea said, "he's done big things for the community. He keeps everything in good working order around here. He's more than earned our respect, and he's more than earned the food he eats and the few creature comforts he enjoys."

"Asshole loves the hell outta comic books, magazines, and these little bitty like brain puzzles," Merle said. "Every one we get goes straight to him. He's done with 'em in like ten minutes, turns 'em into the community storage." He hummed and considered his plate once he'd cleaned it of the pile of potatoes and gravy. "We got dessert?" He asked Andrea.

"That chocolate pie," Andrea said. "You want it now?"

"We got coffee?" Merle asked.

Andrea smiled.

"Decaf so everyone can enjoy," she said. "Already brewed and hot."

"Bring it out?" Merle requested. He reached over and, rather roughly, swatted Andrea on the back in what Carol was sure was supposed to be a sign of affection. Merle, like Daryl, was perhaps not always aware of his physical strength. Andrea simply rocked with the thumping on her back and then Merle squeezed her shoulder in his hand.

She got up and brought the pie and the coffee—after waving away Carol's offer to help with a single thing. Even though she waved away Carol's offer to help, though, Daryl got out of his seat quickly and followed her, helping to bring in the plates, mugs, and utensils that they'd need. He also helped clear the table, demanding to Carol that she simply stay seated—too many people passing back and forth, after all, would only create chaos and increase the risk of running into each other and dropping things.

Carol and Merle both sat quietly and waited until the exchange of supper for dessert was done. Quickly, pie was served and coffee was passed around. Everyone settled into their seats again and, as soon as they were situated, Daryl started talking again around the pie that he was clearly enjoying.

"What about the radio?" Daryl asked.

"Oh," Merle said. "Eugene's gettin' this radio workin' with the satellites that are still up there, you know, just flyin' the fuck around 'cause they ain't dropped out yet or somethin'. Anyway, by his figurin', he can tap into the damned things and can broadcast messages or somethin'. He's lookin' for other people. Survivors. Tell 'em we here if they check out alright."

"We wanna do that?" Daryl asked.

"The goal has always been to grow the community," Andrea said. "Expand it."

"But weed out the people that you don't want," Carol offered.

Merle hummed in agreement.

"That's like tryin' to build a utopia," Daryl said.

"That's the whole idea, brother," Merle mused.

"Except it don't work," Daryl said. "There ain't no such thing as a utopia. Shit always goes south."

"Daryl's right," Carol offered.

"You are right," Merle stressed. "Shit always does go south if you go into it thinkin' you gonna build some kinda perfect damn world. You can't do that 'cause people ain't perfect. Don't think you gotta tell my ass that." He drained his glass of water. When he put it down, and without him making any kind of request, Andrea casually refilled it from the pitcher of clear water she'd put on the table. "That's why the hell we got rules. Regulations. Expectations. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. But if we was scared of lettin' a single damn soul in, Michonne woulda never let your asses through the gate for us to even know you were here."

"We'll do the same things as we always do," Andrea said. "We're cautious, in the beginning, with anyone new. We'll weed people out."

"Some of our people's got people," Merle said. "Out there. At least—they hope they got people. The idea is to try to reach them people. Hell—if you hadn't showed up here, brother? I'da been puttin' your name on the list just the same as…as Alice is got her lil' girlfriend on that list. Eugene's steady broadcastin' messages, with names and last known locations. Tryin' to find people. If anybody else is seekin' a place to go—we'll give 'em a chance to plead their case and prove their worth."

"As long as we vettin' 'em comin' in," Daryl said. He let the statement hang. He didn't have to finish it, because everyone at the table understood what he was saying. Merle smiled at him—the kind of smile that went all the way to his eyes. It raised his eyebrows and curled up the corners of his mouth. He looked prepared to give Daryl a hard time, but then he seemed to think better of it and dropped back into his chair.

"Don't worry, baby brother," he mused. "I know how you always been about your play-pretties. Ain't nothin' gonna happen to your little woman, or your kid. We ain't strangers, here, to keepin' out them that ain't got no business inside the walls—or removin' 'em, for that matter, if they somehow stumbled their asses inside."

Merle put his hand down on the table, somewhat roughly, and then he patted the table like he was apologizing to it. He contemplated the goings on around him for just a second, and then spoke again.

"Everyone wanna—take the coffee onto the porch? Pie, too, if you ain't done with it."

The offer was accepted without words of acceptance. Daryl and Merle only took coffee, but Carol and Andrea both helped themselves to a little more of the chocolate pie before taking their whole dessert setting outside.

The porch had a swing, so Carol and Andrea shared it while Daryl and Merle took two rocking chairs. Daryl lit cigarettes for both of them.

It was the perfect kind of night, at least in Carol's opinion. It was getting chilly. It was the perfect temperature for the light sweater she'd pulled on—one she'd found in the community storage house—and the air smelled like the fires burning near the main house.

Carol balanced her coffee cup on the nearby railing and her pie plate on her belly.

"I can't do that yet," Andrea mused quietly. Carol smiled to herself.

"You will soon," Carol said with a laugh. "Before you know it."

"I hope so," Andrea responded.

"Speakin' of all that," Merle said, "there's another thing we wanted to talk to y'all about."

"Talk to us about specifically?" Daryl asked.

Merle hummed.

"Fall Fling," Merle said. "At least—that's the pendin' name of it, but shit's as liable to change as anything else."

"What the hell's the Fall Fling?" Daryl asked.

"Something like a festival," Andrea offered. "Some of the people brought it to our attention that we might consider having some kind of gathering. An event. Something for the whole community. Food, games, music, celebration…you know. A fall festival, of sorts, for the whole community to come together."

"Winter's comin'," Merle said. "Could be good for morale before everybody starts kinda secludin' themselves more inside to stay warm."

"I got no complaints about that," Daryl said, shrugging his shoulders. "I wouldn't think anybody'd be complainin' about the fair comin' to town or whatever."

"Glad you see it that way," Merle offered. "We was thinkin'—after talkin' to Alice an' some others around here—that you'd be kinda like guests of honor."

"We would?" Daryl asked with a hint of a nervous laugh. Carol laughed to herself, much in the same way, when she heard his laugh.

"Why on Earth would anybody care about us?" Carol asked.

"Community growth is a big thing for the future," Andrea said. "Growth for the future, really. In so many ways, people have started their lives over. The community has been able to offer that for everyone here. There's been one problem, though."

"We ain't growin' nobody new around here," Merle interjected. "We had some pregnancies. Couple women come in with babies, but they just weren't set to be born. Every one we've had around here has come too early. If it didn't, it come gone already or didn't last more'n a couple hours."

Carol watched as Daryl gnawed at his cuticle. The discussion of the bad luck surrounding other babies in the community—mostly caused by poor conditions before the mothers arrived at the community, according to Alice and the other doctors—made him nervous. When he gnawed at his fingers, especially as vigorously as he was at the moment, he was either dealing with a rush of nerves or he was working out a problem. Carol had learned that much about him.

"What's it got to do with us?" Daryl asked.

"People are afraid to have babies," Andrea said. "They're afraid—they're the next failed pregnancy. The next loss."

"But the winter is the right damn time for makin' babies," Merle said. "If you catch my drift. Snows here. Gets cold an' people got a mind to cuddle up."

"What'cha want us to do about it?" Daryl asked. "Hell—I can't force people to fuck."

Merle laughed.

"They'll take care of that on their own," he said. "Condoms is in short supply, though. Shorter'n most of 'em's got any idea. Community storage is runnin' out of 'em and we can't hardly never find none these days when people go on supply runs. One of these days, they gonna go in there expectin' a fistful of guarantees an' there ain't gonna be a single damn one left. We figured if we made y'all kinda like guests of honor—made you visible to the whole place that ain't seen you yet—might inspire people to kinda get over their nerves before they don't have a choice. Keep down panic when that time comes."

"Nothing scary or anything," Andrea offered reassuringly. "Just like a—public baby shower. But without gifts, since most of what you need you can get any time you need it, and with more public congratulations."

Carol's stomach twisted slightly, and her plate wobbled when her daughter responded to whatever rush the sensation may have caused in her system. Carol laughed to herself and steadied the plate.

"I never had a baby shower with Sophia," she offered.

"Then there's somethin' good for everyone," Merle offered.

"But you're pregnant, too," Carol offered, directing her words toward Andrea.

"And we'll mention that," Andrea said. "I mean—we already have. But…"

"People can't see it, so they don't too much believe it or care about it," Merle said. "Sorry, Sugar," he offered to Andrea."

"It's true," Andrea said.

"It'll be obvious soon enough," Carol offered.

"But not in time for the Fall Festival," Merle said. "Not if we wanna use it as somethin' to boost morale an' really get people sorta revved up for all the shit we gotta do to get ready for winter."

"What do we gotta do?" Daryl asked.

"Nothin'," Merle said. "Just be visible. Be there. Eat. Do whatever the hell you want. Accept congratulations an' tell people how fuckin' excited you are."

"I don't really see how we can say we're opposed to it," Carol offered. "But—I won't do it if Andrea isn't going to…make a big deal of things, too."

Merle looked pleased at the suggestion. Carol didn't miss the quick wink he tossed in Andrea's direction before he rocked his chair with his foot.

"Don't worry, Mouse, we gonna make sure Andrea gets plenty of attention, too," Merle said with a laugh. "How's about lightin' your big brother another smoke, Daryl?"


	51. Chapter 51

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**There is a smut warning on this chapter, so you have that warning if you need it. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"Can I tell you a secret?" Carol asked, the end of the whisper accentuated with the slightest pop of laughter. Just the sound of it made Daryl smile—almost as much as the fact that Carol wrapped his hands in hers and pressed her body close against his like she intended for her body to whisper the secret to his.

"Always," Daryl offered quietly. He ducked to kiss her. Since he didn't want to take that smile away from her—not for any reason—he kissed her forehead. The end of her nose. He peppered her cheek with kisses and she laughed quietly. The light sound rippled through Daryl's body and, in response, he pulled Carol closer to him.

"When we were—at dinner? And you had your hand on my thigh, just sitting there? I really liked that," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Yeah? If you liked it so much, I mean…I could definitely do it again," Daryl offered, breaking away only to tug Carol through the quiet house toward their bedroom. "I could even—move it a little further up, if you wanted that."

Carol laughed in response to that and let her fingers hold onto his as he guided her into the bedroom. As soon as she was inside the bedroom door, he dropped her hand and quickly went to turn on the bedside lamp so that they weren't surrounded by darkness. She closed the bedroom door, but she stayed there, leaning with her back against the door.

She was smiling at him. She looked completely relaxed, but there was something else. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Daryl came back to her, but this time he captured her lips with a kiss. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her away from the door, and he groaned his appreciation and satisfaction to her when she expressed her hunger by nibbling his lips before returning for more of the kiss.

"Shit," he breathed out when the kiss broke. She was close enough—her lips still practically on his—that he could feel her panting as her breath came out in gentle puffs. "If I'da known that trick, I'da started fuckin' breakfast with my hand on your thigh."

Carol laughed and then she hummed, not trying to pull away from him.

"It was more than just—the fact that your hand was on my thigh," Carol said. She pulled away enough, then, to make it clear that she wanted to look at him, but not far enough to make it seem like she was trying to escape him. "Your hand was on my thigh while—we were sitting at your brother's table. Eating dinner."

"You like havin' somebody there?" Daryl asked. "Like—a voyeur or something?" Carol smiled at him. He nodded his head, swallowing some amusement that rumbled up in him. "I know a lotta damn words, Carol. Fancy words like voyeur."

"I know you do," Carol said.

"Then don't look so amazed when I know one that's over three letters long," Daryl said. Carol shook her head, gently, in response.

"It's not the word that amazes me," Carol said. "It's you. Everything—everything about you." Very suddenly, something in her demeanor changed. It was like she'd seen a ghost. Daryl furrowed his brow at the change and touched her cheek, almost expecting it to be cold. When he found it was warm, he dropped his hand down to squeeze her shoulder.

"What's wrong?" He asked. "You OK?"

"I liked the domesticity of it," Carol said. "The—feeling like it was real. It was really…real."

Daryl's heart thundered in his chest. He leaned into her, kissed her again, and she returned the kiss.

"I liked it, too," he said.

"You did?" Carol asked. He nodded. "You really did?" He nodded again.

"I'd do it again," he said. "Except now's a little different. I'd sure like to put my hand on your thigh, though, now. If you let me."

A hint of a smile. Just the softest smile that barely turned her lips upward.

"Would you?"

"Yeah," Daryl assured her. He kissed her again, pushed her back against the door, and kissed her neck. "If you wanted me to. Shit—I feel so damned ridiculous."

"Why?" Carol asked, pushing away from him, her hands on his shoulders. She searched his face out with more concern than he was sure the situation warranted.

"Because you got me so fuckin' turned on right now," Daryl said. His face was hot—blazing hot. "Because I'm—sayin' it. You're just talkin' about my fuckin' hand on your thigh, and fuckin' domesticity, and I'm imaginin' puttin' my damned hand between your legs, and suddenly I'm so fuckin' turned on that I'm wonderin' if I could even stand touchin' you for a minute before I fuckin' blow it."

Carol's soft, cool fingers touched his face. She kissed him and he groaned at the taste of her kiss. She rubbed herself against him, mostly rubbing him with her belly since it met him long before anything else had the chance. He let his hands rest on the sides of her belly for a second before sliding around to hold her from behind. She groaned at him and the sound shot through him, making his already painful erection throb just that much more with the desire—the need—to be inside her.

He growled at her. She shushed him, quietly.

"I like hearing it. All of it. I think—that's one of the sweetest things that's ever been said to me," she said, her hands trailing over his clothing. Daryl might have thought she was giving him shit, but her tone was sincere.

"If you like that, I can tell you all kinds of things about the number you're doin' on my dick right now," he said, laughing to himself and appreciating the momentary relief that it brought. "But it won't be poetry 'cause it's kinda hard to think."

"I'm turned on, too," Carol assured him. She kissed his neck and he gritted his teeth.

"Yeah?" He asked, backing up just to get himself some air and the chance to regain some control. She let him go. She didn't seem offended. Instead, she started working her way out of her clothes. Daryl welcomed the distraction, for a moment, that taking off his own clothes gave him. He didn't want to watch her get undressed. If he did, every little thing, when it was revealed to him—every freckle, every scar, every dimple—would just make him want her more and, if he wanted this to last long enough for her to get anything out of it at all, he needed to take a minute to at least breathe.

She barely kicked her clothes out the way, and she remained by the door. Daryl kicked his own clothes out of the way, near the window. The room kept some distance between them for just a second. He let himself look at her because he couldn't resist. She was beautiful. Perfect. And he made his way back over to her.

"How do you know?" He asked, aching to hear her voice say the words.

She wiggled. Squirmed. Daryl found the action amusing, since he was almost certain it was either involuntary or dreadfully close to it.

"How do I know what?" She asked him.

"That you're turned on," Daryl offered.

Carol laughed to herself.

"You're serious?" She asked.

"I know I'm turned on 'cause—my dick's throbbin'," Daryl said. "Damn near killin' me. Hard enough I could probably use it to kill someone." He swallowed and shook his head. He let his hand trail over her cheek, down her neck, over her collarbone, and down to her breast. He let his thumb roll back and forth over her nipple. She squirmed, again, as her nipple rose to attention under his thumb. With no protest, he leaned and, drawing it into his mouth, harassed it with his tongue the same way that he'd done with his finger, curling his tongue around it. She let out a somewhat choked noise of pain or pleasure—the two seemed to blur, at times. "How do you know?" Daryl repeated before he moved to the other breast. Carol's fingers found his hair and she pulled it, scratching his scalp where she couldn't get the hold she wanted.

"Because I'm throbbing," she breathed out. "That's what you want?" Her voice went up at the end. A slight sound of amusement, maybe, but then she groaned when Daryl moved to kiss downward, bending his knee, to allow himself to reach her belly.

He didn't realize, until he'd asked her, that he wanted to hear about her arousal. He wanted to hear about her feelings and sensations. Maybe he just wanted confirmation that she wanted him as much as he wanted her—that she wanted him.

He wanted her to want him in every possible way, but any way would do.

"That all you got?" Daryl asked.

She shifted her position. She squirmed again. One hand went to his shoulder as he lowered himself down. The other pulled at his hair and scratched his scalp like her fingers didn't know what to do, but they knew that they couldn't stay still.

She groaned.

"I'm throbbing," she said. "It hurts but, in a good way. It hurts like—I just want you to touch me. I can't explain what it feels like. I want you inside of me. And I can feel how wet I am."

Daryl smiled against her belly before he planted another kiss there.

"How wet?" He asked.

"Wet," Carol said.

"How wet?" He demanded. He let his teeth scrape her skin—gently. He didn't want to hurt her. He only wanted to call attention to his presence. She responded with a noise that made him rest his forehead against her belly to take a moment and concentrate on the promise he was giving his dick that, if it would just be patient, this would all be worth it—so very, very worth it. "How fuckin' wet are you, Carol?" Daryl asked. "Tell me."

"So wet—I—I can feel it on my thighs," Carol said. There was a ripple of laughter that sounded like it rumbled in her throat. "Where you had your hand earlier."

"You want my hand there again?" Daryl asked, finally settling down on his knees. He could smell her arousal and it set off alarms in his brain. Carol hummed at him. She squirmed, pressing her thighs tight together. She was either trying to hide her arousal, or she was trying to find any pleasure and release she could. Daryl's dick throbbed, begging to help her. Daryl promised it would get its turn. He had no belief at all that Carol was going back on this. He leaned forward, kissed the front of her thigh. He nibbled the skin there, maybe a little harder than he meant to. The sensation of his teeth sinking into the softness of her thigh did a little to relieve the overwhelming pressure he felt elsewhere. Carol responded to the bite. "Sorry," Daryl breathed against her leg, realizing he'd bitten her far harder than he'd intended.

"No," Carol said. "It's fine. It's good." She panted at him. She was no more accustomed to asking for what she wanted and saying what she liked than he was. He would never have imagined he liked such a thing, so much, but he did. He felt his cheeks occasionally run warm with embarrassment, but he felt safe with her. He might embarrass himself, but she wouldn't embarrass him.

And he wouldn't embarrass her.

"Got your legs so damned tight together—it's like a vice," Daryl said, kissing her thigh again, right where her legs were practically twisted together. He leaned and licked at her, his tongue brushing against the point where her thighs met. He got to his feet. He faced her again. Her mouth was partially open—he might have believed she was suffering if there were any sign that she wanted to escape him. He was almost certain that there were tears on her lashes. He kissed her, and she responded to the kiss. He slipped his hand down and rubbed his fingertips at the tight line between her thighs. "Spread your legs, sweetheart. Let me feel how turned on you are."

Carol locked her eyes on his and it nearly unnerved him, but he held her eyes. She shifted and spread her legs, as he'd requested, enough for him to slip his hand between them. He ran his fingers against her, witnessing that she hadn't lied about her arousal. She opened her mouth to him and panted at him in the simplest response to his touch.

It was all he could take. He turned her body and she moved, willingly following his silent instructions. He moved one of her hands to either doorframe as he kissed the back of her neck and her shoulders. He slipped his hand down, and bumping her thighs with his fingers, talked her into spreading her legs a bit more and giving him the access that he needed.

"This OK?" He asked. "You gotta—tell me it's OK."

"Oh," Carol mumbled, changing her position just a little as she apparently got herself comfortable. She leaned her face against the inside of her arm. "Please."

Daryl couldn't stand it any longer, and he could wait for no more confirmation than that. He slid into her, all at once, and she clenched tight around him. He bit her shoulder, in response, and she cried out.

"Shit—sorry," he panted.

"Please—good," she stammered. "Hard."

The cavemanesque language was enough for both of them. Daryl was glad that Carol thought she might like something a little forceful from him, because he felt almost unable to control his thrusts. He held her hips and drove into her. She cried out, but he no longer apologized to her. She didn't ask him to stop. She didn't protest. She only asked for more, and he fully intended to give her what she wanted until they were both spent to the point of having nothing more to offer each other.

She dropped one hand from the doorframe and Daryl held onto to her hips, hard, to keep from driving her into the door. He could feel she was close. Then he felt the rippling in her muscles as she locked down onto him when she cried out, louder than before. Her cries only inspired him to move faster and harder in search of what his body ached for. When he came, there was nothing he could do but stand a moment, still inside her, until gravity and nature separated them, and lean against her back, peppering it with kisses in between gulping down air.

The words he most wanted to say practically tickled at the back of his throat. He swallowed them down and rested his face against Carol's neck. He pulled off of her enough to be sure that he wasn't forcing her to support his weight, but she didn't move away from him just yet.

They both jumped, and Daryl instinctively tightened his hold around her, when there was loud banging on the other side of the door.

"OK! Either that's murder or fucking, and if you don't give me some indication of which one, I'm coming in!" T-Dog yelled through the door.

Carol sucked in a sharp breath and squeaked out a noise in response. Daryl laughed to himself, raising his body up and helping her to straighten up.

"I got the feelin' it ain't a secret no more," Daryl offered. Carol only laughed in response.


	52. Chapter 52

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Neither Daryl nor Carol had believed T-Dog's pretend scolding through the door. Of course, it may have been because they could both detect his amusement, despite his best attempts to hide it. Daryl had been sure that they'd discuss things further in the morning. T-Dog would, without a doubt, have a few questions about when and how things had progressed that the simple "It's fucking. Goodnight T" that Daryl had offered him through the door, followed by Carol's "Goodnight, T. Sleep well" hadn't answered.

Of course, Daryl couldn't quite kick the churning feeling in his stomach that there were so many things that needed to be discussed. There were so many things that needed to be said. There were questions, rolling around in his head, that he wanted answered in the same desperate way that he might want water if he were dying of thirst.

Those questions and thoughts were what kept him from sleeping peacefully. They were what kept him from dreaming of nothing but beautiful things, wrapped in Carol's arms, when they'd gone to bed.

Carol slept, and Daryl kept a restless vigil over her. The little nightlight that Daryl had plugged in to light the way to the bathroom for Carol cast a dim glow over everything so that Daryl could make out her features while she slept.

She hadn't bothered with clothes. Maybe she'd felt they were unnecessary after the evening they'd already had. Daryl didn't mind. He appreciated her nudity and the opportunity to simply look at her—to drink her in, unashamed of this thirst that he couldn't quite quench.

Daryl didn't know what the time might be. He hadn't bothered with a watch since the world had slammed face first into its ending. Most of the timepieces had stopped working and, even those that did give off a time had been reset countless times by the failure of electricity—among other things. Time was a construct, for the most part, and they'd let marking the exact hours go by the wayside. What they needed to know about time, now, only had to do with the rising and setting sun.

Night still blanketed the world when Daryl's restlessness started to become more than he could handle.

The little nightlight gave off a glow and, from the window, there was a rather bright glow from the large moon that hung in a cloudless sky.

Daryl got up, paced quietly around the room to burn just a little of the excess energy that boiled around inside his body, and then he moved to the window. It was already cracked about two inches—as were most of the windows since they needed air to circulate through the house—and Daryl pushed the window open the rest of the way. He brought his cigarettes and lighter. He slipped out of the room, not caring about his own nudity, to snag a stool from the kitchen, and he brought it back in the room. Daryl had been careful to close the door quietly, to rest the stool on the floor quietly, and to take his seat delicately so that the stool barely creaked under his weight. He only meant to sit and smoke his cigarette in full view of the big moon outside the window and the beautiful woman in the bed—all at once—but he realized he'd failed when Carol stirred and sat up, pulling the blanket over her shoulder in an act that said she was cold more than she was seeking to protect her modesty.

"Daryl?" She asked, her voice heavy with the sound of sleep. She stretched and yawned.

"It's just me," Daryl said. "Go back to sleep." She sat up on her elbow. She wasn't going back to sleep. "Shit," Daryl hissed. "I didn't mean to wake you up. You were sleepin' good. Go back to sleep, please?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"I don't know if you woke me," she said. She sat all the way up, abandoned the blanket again, and stretched. Then she got up, her hand immediately going to her belly as she stood, and started toward the bathroom. Daryl watched her go. He was oddly pleased that she'd abandoned the blanket and that she hadn't bothered to cover herself in any way. It meant that he'd been right. Her instinctual reaching for the blanket was merely a sign of a chill in the air, and not some kind of sign that she was denying him the right to see her.

It wasn't a sign that she'd had some kind of change of heart while she slept.

Carol came back, with no great sense of urgency, once she'd attended to her business. She sat on the edge of the bed, facing Daryl, and she pulled the blankets free so that she could wrap them around her. She looked cozy and cocooned, there, with the blankets covering her.

"Cold?" Daryl asked.

"Little bit," Carol said. "The nights are starting to cool down."

"Want me to close the window?" Daryl asked.

"Feels good," Carol said. She yawned. "You OK? You don't usually wake up in the middle of the night just to have a cigarette. Do you?"

Daryl smiled to himself. They were starting to know each other's habits. That was a strange thing, when he thought about it, but it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

"Not really," Daryl said. "Not usually. Not unless I got somethin' on my mind that—that just don't give me no peace."

"You have something on your mind, Daryl?" Carol asked.

He laughed to himself.

"Shit—I've got more on my mind right now than…I've had in a long time."

"What's on your mind?" Carol asked. Daryl's stomach tightened at the feeling that he was close to a line that he wasn't sure he dared to cross. If he never crossed it, though, then he'd spend the rest of his life standing on some kind of proverbial precipice with a stomach ache keeping him up at night—that much he knew to be true. Sometimes, to save yourself, you had to jump and accept that even dying might be better than staying in such an unsure place.

That's what he thought, inwardly. Outwardly, he lit another cigarette with the end of the one that he was smoking and snubbed out the butt after a final long draw brought the first to its end.

"You can tell me," Carol pressed. "Whatever it is."

Daryl laughed quietly to himself. She sounded so sincere. She sounded so sure that she wanted to hear everything that circled around in his head.

"I got some pretty big secrets," Daryl said.

"I'll hear your secrets," Carol offered.

"What if you don't like what I got to say?" Daryl asked.

Carol shifted a little in her spot and rearranged the blankets. She rubbed her cheek against one spot of the blanket that wrapped around her. Then she hummed.

"I would hear it anyway," Carol said. "Because if you needed to say it…it's better that you say it. And get it out. And if I didn't like it—I'd figure out what to do about that. How to handle it."

"What if I don't like how you choose to handle it?" Daryl asked, his stomach churning.

"Then we could talk about that, too, Daryl," Carol offered. "But—maybe you should just say it."

Daryl sat for a moment, his throat aching, and thought about. He thought about everything he wanted to say, but he didn't know how to say it all. He didn't know how to make the thoughts come out sounding the way he wanted them to sound.

But it had to be said.

"I don't wanna play pretend no more, Carol," Daryl said.

"I see," Carol said, after a moment of silence. It sounded like she was looking for something to say, and that was the best she'd found.

"I don't—wanna play pretend because you just know…the whole time you're pretendin' something…that it's gotta come to an end. Games don't last forever. Pretend—it doesn't last forever. And then one day it's just over and you're left rememberin' that you could get there at one time, but you can't get there again and…maybe you don't never get back."

"To the pretend?" Carol asked.

"It don't make sense outside my head," Daryl offered.

"It's OK," Carol said softly. "It doesn't matter if it makes sense, Daryl. It only matters that—you say what you need to say. You don't want to play pretend. Is there more you need to say, Daryl?"

Daryl hummed in the affirmative. He kept his eyes mostly staring at this one spot on the windowsill where the hardware reflected the light in a particularly bright manner given that it was moonlight and not terribly reflective. He tried to focus on that to keep his mind off his churning gut and the general uneasiness that he could practically smell in the bedroom air in the same way that he could smell arousal and sexual desire earlier.

He glanced at Carol out of the corner of his eye. She'd drawn the blankets up until she was little more than a face among them. He brought his eyes back to the particularly shiny piece of hardware.

"It's not that I don't wanna play pretend," Daryl said. "It's that—I don't just want to play pretend, Carol. Because I don't mean it."

"You don't mean—what we've been pretending?" Carol asked.

"I don't mean the pretend part," Daryl said. "I mean the rest of it—just not the pretend part."

Carol flung off the cover like she'd suddenly grown too hot to stand the confines of her blanket cocoon.

"You mean—what do you mean, Daryl?" Carol asked.

Daryl heard a distinct change in the quality of her voice. There was a shift there that was slightly noticeable. It made Daryl's gut worry all over again.

"I'm not pretending, Carol," Daryl said, determined to simply say it—for better or for worse. "I don't really know if I was ever pretending. I mean—I'm pretendin' we're married, 'cause I know we aren't married. And I'm pretendin' that's my kid, 'cause I know it ain't my kid. Don't—don't want you to think I'm fuckin' delusional. I'm not. But I'm not pretending a damn thing else. When I'm kissin' you? It's 'cause I wanna kiss you. I don't wanna stop kissin' you, neither. When we're—havin' sex together? That's what I want to be doing. I'm not doin' it for some pretend."

"It's because—you want to have sex," Carol said.

There was absolutely something different about her voice. It was choked. Shaky. Daryl didn't dare to look at her because he didn't know what he would see there, but he knew—he absolutely knew—that he wasn't ready to face it.

He laughed to himself, nervously. He didn't mean it at all. The laughter had to come, though, because he felt, at that moment, that his only other choices to express himself would either be to cry or to vomit, and he felt that neither of those were too becoming or too good for his dignity.

"I don't fuck you 'cause I'm horny," Daryl offered. He lit another cigarette for himself. Chain-smoking, he knew, wasn't a good idea, but it was the only thing that seemed to even somewhat calm the screaming in his mind right now. He needed the steady, dependable, repetitive action of smoking in the same way that he needed to focus, unnaturally, on the oddly reflective piece of windowsill hardware. "I've lived most my life without havin' to fuck 'cause I'm horny. Understood enough to know that—horny's a biological response. Just a hormonal occurrence, really. Comes in waves like allergies or somethin', and it ain't no real problem to cure it alone without all the complication and shit that comes from lookin' for the wrong damn person to do the equivalent of scratchin' an itch." He laughed to himself. That same nervous laugh that he was forcing in order to distract himself from the boiling in his gut that was making him feel nauseous. "I can scratch my own damn mosquito bites."

"Then, why?" Carol asked, her voice hardly more than air with a hint of sound.

It was the longest silence that Daryl had let himself have since he'd started talking—afraid he'd never finish if he let his words stop too long. Carol held the silence with him, waiting.

"Kept it a secret this damn long 'cause—I know you could do better," Daryl said. "Especially now that—I look around and I see all these fuckin' people here. Know there's more comin' if that fellow gets the radio working like he wants. I know you deserve better, but…truth is, Carol? I'm not pretendin' because every fuckin' thing I'm doing—I'm—I'm doin' that shit because…I love you. And I don't—I don't really know what to do with that. I don't know what to do about that…but…but I know—I know that it's there. And I know I'm not pretending. I just…love you."

Daryl stared harder at the reflective spot on the hardware than he'd stared at anything before. He ignored that it blurred, slightly, in his vision, and he blinked the blur away. He waited, in the silence, for what must be coming—for Carol's declaration that they needed to seek other arrangements where lines didn't blur like his vision had. Reluctantly, he crushed out the finished cigarette as the moments ticked past, and he forced himself not to light another to replace it. His breathing was already restricted enough by the tightness in his chest—though he really couldn't pretend that it was caused by the cigarettes.

He heard Carol's rustling of the blankets. He heard the creak of the bedframe and the floorboards. He imagined she might go to the bathroom, but he didn't look at her, again, until he felt her presence drawing near him.

When he glanced at her, she touched his face and pulled it so that he would look at her entirely. She smiled at him and, without saying anything, she drew his face against her breast. For a moment, he closed his eyes and ignored, entirely, the sexual implications of her naked breast against his cheek. He focused instead, on the softness of her breast, and the softness of her fingertips as she caressed his face, and the sound of her heartbeat racing slightly within her chest.

He smiled to himself, nearly every muscle in his body seeming to relax simultaneously, when she spoke—her voice barely above a whisper.

"I've got a secret too," she said. "I love you, too. And I have—for what seems like a very long time."


	53. Chapter 53

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"I gotta admit," T-Dog said, "I'm a little pissed off that you lied to me."

Daryl wasn't all worried about them being overheard. They were entirely alone. The community genius—or whatever he was—was sending out radio signals and attempting to contact anyone who might still be alive out there. He was smart, apparently. He was real smart. And everyone figured that he'd be successful in at least finding a couple of people who could hear the message, make it to the community with his directions, and contribute to the group.

In anticipation of their arrival, they'd decided to go ahead and get a couple of houses cleaned and ready for those that might come needing a place to live. Daryl and T-Dog had volunteered to go and open the designated houses and do some quick checks over basics like plumbing and electricity—taking care of any minor repairs that might need to be done as that house was opened up, after a rather long slumber, and connected to the grid for the first time.

Daryl laughed to himself. T-Dog might say he was pissed off, but he didn't sound pissed in the slightest.

"You're laughing, but I'm not lying," T-Dog said. "I just wanna know how long, man? Back at the rock quarry? I know you hated Ed Peletier. Honestly, I just figured it was for the same reasons we all hated him. He was a man that was easy to hate. But did you hate him for something else?"

Daryl shook his head, and ducked back under the cabinet where he was working with a leady pipe while T-Dog sat on the edge of the bathtub and pretended that he was doing anything constructive.

"I can still hear you," Daryl offered. "Don't let me workin' interrupt your speculation."

"I know when it was," T-Dog said. He hummed, confirming to himself that he'd figured everything out, and Daryl laughed, again, to himself. "The CDC. I thought it then, but I wasn't sure. What the hell were you doing? Waiting until we were all asleep so you could run over to Carol's room while Sophia was sleeping? Or did she come to yours?"

Daryl eased out from under the cabinet so that he wouldn't hit his head—again, since he'd already hit it more times than he really preferred to hit his head in one day.

"Tell you what," he said. "I'll tell you all you wanna know, if you'll tell me whether or not you an' Jacqui was doin' the wild thing at the CDC." T-Dog's facial expression said everything that he was clearly hesitating to say with his mouth. "That's what I fuckin' thought. I knew there was somethin' going on there."

"Nobody knew about that," T-Dog said.

"Sure they didn't," Daryl said. "Rick and Shane and their clan didn't know about it because they were so damn wrapped up in whatever the hell they were doing. Andrea didn't know about it because she was about neck deep in a fucking nervous breakdown. Dale didn't know nothin' about it 'cause he was so stuck up Andrea's ass he couldn't have seen daylight if he was outside the buildin'. Glenn didn't know nothin' about it because, honestly, I think he was too damn innocent for that shit—barely even knew what was goin' on with Shane and Lori. And Carol didn't know nothin' about it 'cause she was busy just learnin' what it felt like to breathe without Ed in the world. So, nobody knew shit about it. But I did."

"Man, fuck you," T-Dog said with a laugh. "How the hell'd you know about that shit?"

"Because I'm observant," Daryl said. "And I'm not blind, and deaf, and stupid. I noticed there was a difference in the way y'all was talkin' to each other. Actin' with each other."

T-Dog's face was a lot more solemn and contemplative, all of a sudden, than it had been.

"I still miss her, you know," he offered.

"We all miss her," Daryl said. "You prob'ly more'n any of us, but she ain't forgotten."

"Sometimes I get mad at her," T-Dog admitted. "I think—why, you know? I mean maybe I wasn't anything to live for or something like that, but we were just getting started…"

"I don't think Jacqui felt like there was any kind of future ahead for any of us," Daryl said. "What fuckin' reason did she have to think there would be? We got to the CDC and it was fuckin' euphoria for all of us. Suddenly it was like—we made it. We could live like that. Lookin' back, that wouldn'ta been no kinda life. Eventually the food would have run out. We were below ground. We'da had to come outta hiding eventually. Back into the world. At the time, though, we were just caught up in the sleepin' good and feelin' safe. But when that place was set to blow? And it was go back out to what we'd just come from—what we thought was gonna kill us or…stay there? Maybe Jacqui just felt like there weren't no kinda future, and she didn't wanna die slow and painful."

"If she'd've just held on for a little while," T-Dog said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I don't believe in offin' yourself," Daryl said. "No damn matter how bad it gets, I just got this feelin' that you gotta keep on livin' as long as you're alive. But that's me. And that don't mean I'ma force that shit on nobody else or call 'em wrong if they choose somethin' different. Jacqui was scared, and she mighta enjoyed them days with you…I'm sure she did…but she weren't prepared to go on. She didn't want the heartache."

"But it's better," T-Dog said. "Look around. Look at all we've got here. We're doing shit that matters. We're building lives. This place is real and the future is real. Jacqui missed all of that. She missed this—and everything it could be."

Daryl hummed.

"Maybe you're forgettin' a lot of where we been," Daryl said. "Jacqui missed all this, but she also missed damn near dyin' in a herd on the highway. She missed seein' you so sick with fever I was pretty sure we were gonna lose you. She missed Sophia gettin' lost and killed. She missed Carl damn near dying. She missed Shane losin' his ever-fuckin' mind an' Rick killin' him. She missed watchin' the next safe place we found, after the fuckin' CDC blew up, burn down around us. She missed Patricia and Jimmy and…she missed those deaths of people she never got to know. She missed us leavin' Andrea behind. Missed us wanderin' around lost, without a plan in the world and not knowin' what the next day was gonna hold or if we were gonna die. She missed—starvin' half to death to keep Lori an' Carl fed. Givin' up everything we had to practically burn it on the damn altar Rick built for us—demandin' his daily fuckin' sacrifices of anything even halfway decent that we got in our lives."

Daryl stopped. He could feel anger bubbling inside him that he'd thought he'd doused. He could feel it burning hot in his gut.

"Tell you a secret? I'm still pissed at Rick. I still think of Carol—how damn skinny she looked that night. Nothin' but belly an' bones…and I wanna go back to when I had him at the point of that knife. I think about—what if I'da just done what my anger wanted me to do?"

"Easy man," T-Dog said drawing Daryl out of his anger and back into the room. "He ain't here. And if you'd've done that, we'd've inherited Lori and both her kids. And that would've been hell on Earth for all of us."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Still, it pisses me off," Daryl said. "That weren't even my point, though. My point was that Jacqui missed all that, too. And who can say if…if she wouldn't have done it some other way, you know? Some way that weren't as easy or as good for her. Who can say that she wouldn't have gotten overwhelmed by all that and just ended it?"

"It doesn't get easier losing people," T-Dog mused.

"That it don't," Daryl agreed.

T-Dog's expression lightened, again, and he smiled to himself.

"But it's always good gaining people," T-Dog said. "I'm no fan of your brother, but he seems alright."

"Merle without the damn drugs weren't never too much of a problem," Daryl mused.

"It's good to have Andrea back," T-Dog said.

"And to think her crazy ass has gone an' got knocked up," Daryl said. "Brave ass woman that'll bring a mini-Merle Dixon into the world."

"She might not have had much of a choice," T-Dog mused. "Birth control is scarce."

"So I heard," Daryl said. "You and your lady friend—Michonne…and there ain't no sense in tryin' to hide it, because I've already caught her creepin' out the house a couple times now. You…two…uh…?"

T-Dog's smile spread into a shit-eating grin. Daryl laughed to himself, just in response to the expression.

"We aren't trying," T-Dog said.

"No offense," Daryl mused, "but I don't know how much tryin' or not tryin' there is these days. If you're fuckin', you're tryin'."

"You know," T-Dog said. "You've turned this shit around on me, but it wasn't about me, asshole. If I remember correctly, you wanted to know about what I was doing at the CDC in exchange for answering some of my questions. So—was this shit going on back then? Has it been going on under my damn nose the whole time? I bet that baby's really yours…"

"Wind your ass up and let you go," Daryl mused. "You don't need nobody else. You'll sit your happy ass on the side of the bathtub, all the fuck alone, and come up with a whole day's worth of theories. I don't know what the hell you need me for. Sounds like you've figured everything out."

"Am I right or am I wrong?" T-Dog asked.

"I'll tell you the truth," Daryl said, "I honestly wish you were right." He saw something in T-Dog's features fall again. He seemed genuinely disappointed to learn what, honestly, he already knew. Daryl shook his head at him. "We owe the whole thing to you. I mean maybe we'da figured it out, out there, eventually? But it would've taken us forever. Hell—it's still new. We're still workin' it out. I'm starting to think that the feelings have maybe been there for both of us for a long time, but we didn't recognize them, or denied them, or both. The truth of it is, though, that we didn't start this until you lied an' put our asses together."

"You owe me," T-Dog teased.

"I do, man," Daryl agreed. "You just gotta let me know where I can pay you back. It ain't like you've needed a lot of help with Michonne. I mean you seem to be progressin' with that, all on your own."

"Maybe I owe you for that," T-Dog said. "A lot of it was kinda your vouching for me. The whole—family man says this guy's OK thing."

Daryl hummed to himself.

"Well, then you're welcome for whatever I did, if I did anything at all," Daryl said. He sighed. "If I'm bein' honest? I think things between me and Carol would've worked out eventually, anyway, you know? It just feels like it had to happen. I think it might've even happened earlier if we'd've had something kind of pushing us in the right direction. The thing that bothers the hell out of me, most every day, is that that baby ain't mine. It's Ed's kid. I didn't lie to you about it. Didn't even know it was there until the night before we split."

"Does Carol want it to be your kid?" T-Dog asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I don't know that it matters what she wants," Daryl said, "anymore'n it matters what I want. The fact of the matter is that it was Ed that made that baby with her. He put it there. It weren't me."

"Let me tell you somethin'," T-Dog said. "When I was growin' up, I had two good parents. The kind of parents that you used to see on television shows. They raised me in the church. My Mama was the kindest, holiest, most wonderful woman you'd have ever met. You'da liked her, Daryl."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'm sure I would have," he agreed, allowing T-Dog a moment to visit with his loved ones.

"My Daddy? He was a deacon. He used to go to people's houses whenever they were sick, or old, or just needed a helping hand. He'd do whatever they needed: cut the grass, fix the sink, hang a new clothesline. It didn't matter. Every Sunday, and most evenings when he got off of work, he'd throw the football around in the yard with me. He's the one that got me started playing."

"That's good, man," Daryl said. "And I'm sure you miss 'em. But I—know you'll understand what I mean when I say that…I can't relate, and I'm not real sure why you're tellin' me this unless you're just feelin' kinda sentimental."

"You got a thick skull sometimes, you know that? Must be a damn Dixon thing," T-Dog mused. He didn't sound half as annoyed as his words would have suggested he was. "My Daddy wasn't my biological father, Daryl. I didn't know that 'til I was about ten years old. They thought it was best to tell me, but…they told me that it didn't matter. They told me that it wasn't blood that made a family. They weren't wrong. My Daddy was the greatest man in the world to me, Daryl. And I never really cared that much about the other man that I never knew. Carol would want you to be that baby's daddy?" Daryl hummed, nodding his head.

"I think so," he said.

"You wish that baby was yours?" T-Dog asked.

"More'n any damn thing," Daryl admitted.

"Then that's all the hell there is to it," T-Dog said. "It's yours. If you don't believe me—talk to Carol about it. I bet you she'll tell you the same thing."

"Yeah," Daryl mused. "I might."


	54. Chapter 54

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl had so many things going on inside his head—so many things that he wanted to tell Carol and to ask her. As the days ticked on, though, he found himself unable to bring anything up to the surface that was inside of him. Part of him was simply afraid that bringing things up might complicate things. Bringing things up might cause hard discussions and, for the most part, Daryl wasn't interested in hard discussions at the moment.

Daryl was interested in simply being with the woman that he loved—in every possible manifestation. He was interested in hearing from her—sometimes with sleepy whispers, sometimes as her body shook with what he could physically do to it, and sometimes with the sound of a smile and a laugh behind it—that she loved him, and he was interested in telling her the same in return. It felt so good to say the words that they rolled out of Daryl in ways, and at times, that he never would have expected before. Nearly every time he saw Carol, even if she was just brushing her teeth, his mind reminded him that he loved her and, now, his mouth felt free to share that information with her. Beyond that, being wrapped in her love—so freely given, both verbally and physically—was the nicest place that Daryl had ever been before.

Still, certain thoughts and certain desires gnawed deep in Daryl's gut. He could push them down, but he couldn't keep them there forever. He did little things to calm them, but he knew that, eventually, he'd have to do more.

In the early morning of the Fall Fling Festival—which was really a day on which they would celebrate the coming winter, everything they'd accomplished this year, and everything they were anticipating in the future— Daryl took Carol out to practice with her bow. Afterwards, they'd eaten breakfast and gone back to their home for showers. They didn't fit well in the shower together, despite their best efforts, so they'd simply promised each other that showers, together, would be something that they would explore in the future, once the baby was born. Daryl took his shower first, since he was the fastest at such things, and let Carol take her time enjoying the ritual that she created surrounding bathing and dressing.

In a few days, they would be butchering a bull that wouldn't be kept alive through the winter to fill smokehouses with meat. They would be butchering a few other animals, too, that wouldn't likely live through the winter or contribute much more in their lives. Their final gift to the community would be food for the cold months. Their greenhouses were up and running, with some seedlings already in place, and they'd be moving some portable plants in there that couldn't withstand the cold, but which they didn't want to risk losing.

Daryl felt invigorated when he thought of all the hot, sweaty work that stood between him and the winter when they would spend much of their time huddling inside around crackling fireplaces with the people they loved. He had never been afraid of hard work, and this felt like work with purpose—work with great purpose.

For the Fall Fling Festival, though, Daryl wasn't dressed for work. He was wearing a fairly unstained pair of pants—all things considered—and a dark blue button-down shirt that was light enough not to irritate him, but warm enough to ward off the chill in the air. He stood on the porch and smoked a cigarette, enjoying the smell of the fires that were already burning, and waited for Carol.

When she hadn't come out in what he loosely suspected was a reasonable amount of time, Daryl wandered back inside to check on her.

In their bedroom, Carol was wearing a yellow dress that was flowy and tied with a bow just above her swollen belly. She was beautiful, and Daryl smiled at the thought, even while he was simply seeing her reflection in the large mirror that hung just above the dresser.

She smiled and turned to look at him.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said. "I got worried you'd—slipped in the bathroom an' busted your head open or something."

Carol picked up a dress from the bed. It was similar in style to the yellow one she'd gotten, very recently, from the community items. It was white and had little pink flowers on it.

"I couldn't decide which one to wear," she said, still admiring the white and pink one like she wasn't sold on the yellow one. "They're nice little dresses. They're pretty—not for working in the gardens or…hunting. I'll pass them off to Andrea soon. It's a shame I won't have any reason to wear them. Ed didn't like for me to wear nice clothes. He didn't like to spend the money and—he said that vanity was proof that I was a cheater."

"And he's deader'n shit," Daryl offered. He walked over to her. He felt his anxiety grow, itching within him, every time she so much as mentioned Ed Peletier. Daryl reached for the pink and white dress. Carol let him have it, and he held it up in front of him before he rested it on the bed. "Pretty," he said. "Yellow's pretty, too. Of course, maybe it ain't the dresses I like all that much."

Carol's cheeks blushed pink and Daryl was pleased with himself.

"Wear the yellow," Daryl said. "Save that pink an' white one."

"Save it for what?" Carol asked with a laugh. "It's not like we have a lot of special occasions around here. I mean—we're pretty practical."

"There might be use for it," Daryl said.

His stomach churned. It ached. The anxiety that the mention of Ed caused in him was only compounded by his own concerns when he accepted that, if he was ever going to start to soothe the thoughts that came to him, randomly, while he was doing anything else, he was going to have to start somewhere.

Daryl reached his hand in his pocket. He felt the rough corner of a small plastic bag there. The bag wasn't even half the size of a playing card, and Daryl had carried it around and hidden it, here and there, for days. He'd hidden that baggie with every ounce of dedication that Merle had ever used to hide drugs.

Maybe they both had addictions—it just so happened that one of the strongest that Daryl had ever had turned out to be a woman, and everything she represented to him.

"Are you alright?" Carol asked, her earlier smile disappearing entirely. "You're—knid of pale. Do you need to sit down, Daryl?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"No," he said, still feeling the baggie with his fingertip. "No—I don't need to sit, Carol. But—I might just need to…." He stopped a moment and used the edge of the bed to help him, ignoring the popping sounds that his knees made from too much work, recently. He knelt on one knee, and a smile spread across Carol's face before tears started to run from her eyes. "Jeez," Daryl said. "I just got down here an' you already leaking. That a good sign or a bad one?"

"What are you doing?" Carol asked, wiping at her face.

Daryl couldn't help but smile. His stomach was still tangling in knots, but he had a better feeling about things than he'd had the few times he'd let his mind run away with worst case scenarios.

"Been keepin' it a secret for a couple days," Daryl said. "But I went sortin' through the community stuff and—they ain't had no real big selection on account of they don't tend to bring in things that aren't practical, but I found this."

Daryl pulled out the baggie he'd been carrying around, split it open, and dumped the contents into his hand. He looked at it, for a second, and wished it was more—he wished it was all that she deserved. But it was all that he had, and it would have to do. He offered his palm toward Carol, and shook his head.

"I don't even have to pretend that I think it'll fit you," Daryl said. "That's what I got the chain for. Chain's steel or silver, and I'm guessin' that band is platinum. Didn't have no diamonds. No real choices."

"You got me a ring?" Carol mused.

"On a necklace," Daryl said. "I know it ain't supposed to work that way, but…Carol, I'm sorry, I gotta stand up."

Carol laughed and Daryl laughed in response. He hated to ruin the mood, but the position was uncomfortable. Carol didn't seem bothered, though. Instead she moved like she was going to help him. He wouldn't have dreamed of straining her body, at that moment, by pulling up on her. He pretended, though, to accept her help as he used the bed as leverage to stand. He readjusted the ring in his palm and held it out to her again.

"I'm tired of pretending, Carol," Daryl said. "I don't want pretend. I just want—real. I don't want to pretend we're married. I want you to really marry me."

Carol smiled at him. He reached a hand up and brushed away a few of the tears that dropped from her lower lashes. She took the ring on the chain and smiled at it.

"It's the most beautiful ring I've ever seen," she said.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Then you ain't seen too many," Daryl said. "It's just a plain old band, Carol. There's nothin' even beautiful about it."

"It's beautiful because—I love you," Carol said. Daryl smiled to himself. The statement, really, made very little sense, but he understood the sentiment behind it perfectly. He leaned and caught her lips with his own. She gladly kissed him back, her hand going behind his head to tug at his hair.

"That mean you'll marry me?" Daryl asked.

"They think we're already married," Carol said, somewhat regretfully. Daryl shook his head.

"I been thinking about that, and that's not exactly what they think," Daryl said. "They think we kept this a secret since the quarry. Andrea was with us 'til we left the farm. She thinks it was all a secret. If we kept it a secret, then it would mean we were together, but we never got married. Not in some kind of official type way."

"And now we want to make it official," Carol supplied. Daryl nodded his head. "I don't know how they'd feel about—us being guests of honor, or something, at a gathering like this and then turning around and saying…and we want to have a wedding."

"We're tryin' to promote keepin' warm and makin' babies this winter," Daryl said. "Marriages help get people in the mood to build families—to make babies." His stomach tugged with other thoughts—other concerns that were almost always coming back to the forefront of his mind. He pushed them back for now. He could only deal with one great concern of his at a time.

Carol smiled.

"That's true," she said. "And it wouldn't be like we'd—like we'd demand a whole lot of the community."

"We wouldn't even have to do nothin' big," Daryl said. "Just—a couple of us. Together in the livin' room, if you want. You can wear your pink and white dress and…it don't have to be big. Unless you want big. I don't care, Carol. The only thing I care about is that—it's not pretend anymore."

Carol touched his cheek. She seemed to ignore the tears that dropped, every now and again, to run trails down her face and drip off her jaw if Daryl didn't catch them in time. She kissed him again—long and slow—until Daryl could barely breathe anymore.

"Please tell me that's a yes, you're gonna marry me," Daryl said.

Carol laughed to herself.

"In my heart, I already did," she offered. "But I'll certainly do it again, for everyone to see."

Daryl smiled at her. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a little shaky, but in the best way possible.

"Here—I want you to wear this. Please?"

He took the ring from her, and he cursed his fingers when they shook too badly for him to open the tiny clasp on the necklace. Finally, he managed to get it open, and Carol turned around, allowing him to fasten it around her neck.

"I'll find you a better ring," he said. "One that's big enough to fit on your finger."

Carol touched the ring.

"I love this one," she said. "But I'm sure—they're going to want to know about it. Why now? Why all of a sudden?"

"And I'll tell 'em that—it's a special day," Daryl said. "You said—you didn't have a baby shower with Sophia."

Carol shook her head.

"I didn't," she confirmed.

"And you didn't have a wedding ring from me," Daryl said. "So—I thought I'd give you a gift. Thought you—oughta have one. That's all they gotta know. That and…that we decided to really get married."

"To have an official ceremony," Carol said.

Daryl wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to him. He rested his forehead against hers. The baby was clearly awake. She was probably feeling cramped. Carol said that she was beginning, especially at night, to protest, more and more, the confines of her space. Winter was coming, but so was she.

Daryl kissed Carol again.

"Save your pink an' white dress for when we get married," he said. "You look pretty as you are. I like the yellow—it's happy. But—we better head on. We don't want you to miss the party."

"Daryl?" Carol said, catching his hand and pulling him back as he started toward the bedroom door. He hummed at her in question and turned back to look at her. She smiled at him. "The color of the dress isn't the only thing that's happy about today," she offered. "I love you."

Daryl returned to her, quickly, and kissed her once more.

"I love you, too," he offered, holding her tight against him and deciding that they could be just a little late—there was always time, after all, for one more kiss.


	55. Chapter 55

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl didn't know if he was most impressed by the fact that his brother gave a relatively good speech—as far as speeches went—about the progress that the community had made, the work and hope that they had ahead of them, and the importance of family and friends as they moved into the winter, or if he was impressed by the fact that the people of the Cedar Falls Community genuinely seemed to drink in Merle's words and to be thrilled by his presence.

Merle had made the comment to Daryl that, as time went on, he sometimes got to thinking that losing his hand on a rooftop in Atlanta might have been one of the best things that ever happened to him. Though he'd like to have his hand back—for mostly practical reasons—he wouldn't want to trade what he had now for an appendage that had done him relatively little good without the particular chain of events and hardships that had led him to this place.

At the end of Merle's speech, he'd added a little piece about the importance of growing their community from the inside, as much as from the outside, and he'd introduced Carol for anyone who may not know her or have seen her around. He hadn't said too much else on the subject, and Daryl assumed his strategy was to let people enjoy the day—there would be food, music and dancing, and games like at any good festival—and later to address things, again, when people were in a mood to maybe consider going home to work on creating a few little ones of their own.

Carol slipped off, immediately after Merle's speech, because she'd been beckoned by a few of the woman to join their conversation. Daryl watched her, for a few moments, from a distance.

Carol was beautiful. Her smile, as she talked to the women, was radiant. Her hair was growing some, now, and it was long enough that the sunlight easily caught the silver in her hair and practically shined. The women must have had some interest in the baby because Carol invited them all to rub her belly and to dote on the little one that would either be sleeping or reveling in attention by performing a series of high kicks for everyone's entertainment.

Even though Daryl knew that there was no such thing as perfection in humans—naturally flawed as they were—he believed that Carol came as close to perfection as any of them could. She may not believe it for herself, but Daryl believed it enough for the both of them.

And Carol had agreed to marry him—fully and officially.

Daryl wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve that but, like Merle, he thought he understood the sentiment—rare as it may be these days—that the virus that everyone saw as plunging the world into hell had actually delivered, to Daryl, more than he could ever have imagined having in the life he knew before.

Daryl's body reacted when he felt the hard hand close on his shoulder.

"Shit, brother!" Merle spat, backing up quickly and holding his hand, and his metal cuff covered arm, up in the air in a sign of surrender. "Don't ruin the festival with bloodshed."

Daryl panted. His body had responded, whirling him around to face his would-be attacker, without ever checking with his brain about the fact that they weren't in a situation where danger was likely at all.

"You scared the shit outta me," Daryl said.

"What's dangerous is I didn't do shit, brother," Merle said with a laugh. "You was just so damned focused on somethin'. You piss yourself?"

Merle thought the whole thing was funny. For Daryl, it didn't feel funny yet, though it may feel funny in the future. The truth of the matter was that he had been focused—entirely focused—and he had simply checked out from his current situation. The violent reaction of his body, functioning almost entirely without his brain, reminded him that they were safe in the community, and they were removed from the almost constant state of danger that they'd known out there, but the conditioning they'd been through still left them with reactions that would likely never fade.

Merle gave Daryl a quiet moment, evidently understanding, without saying anything, exactly what he was going through. Then he offered Daryl the box, from his pocket, that held some of the hand rolled cigarettes that one of their community members rolled from the dried tobacco they grew in some of the farther parts of the community.

Daryl accepted it, thanked Merle, and lit a cigarette for both of them before Merle returned the box and lighter to his pocket.

"Better?" Merle asked.

"Just surprised my ass, that's all," Daryl said. Merle laughed to himself.

"The hell were you so focused on?" Merle asked. He stood looking in the direction that Daryl had been looking, but Carol had moved and Daryl assumed that there was no evidence to give Merle any proof of what had held Daryl's profound interest. "You were lookin' at your lil' woman." Daryl's face ran hot, his stomach flipped, and Merle laughed to himself. "Still that damn infatuated? Wouldn't expect no different."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daryl asked.

Merle shrugged his shoulders.

"Means ever since you was a baby, you get real stuck on what'cha like. Obsessed. Hell—prob'ly better that way. You ain't never needed too much variety. If you liked it, damn near had to fight you to get you to accept anything else." Merle laughed. "You prob'ly don't remember it, but you had this—this blue shirt. Weren't real special. Don't know where the hell you got it. Mama prob'ly picked it up at a yard sale or some shit. Had Mickey Mouse on the front of it. You wore that shit so damned much I had to wash it out in the sink at night and hang it over the side of the tub 'cause Mama weren't gonna wash the clothes that much an' you would cry every mornin' you had to put somethin' else on. Damn near tore my fuckin' nerves up when you outgrew the shit."

"I don't remember that," Daryl said, laughing to himself.

"You was small," Merle said, bending down to indicate a that Daryl must have been, at least in Merle's memory, quite young and very short. "I always figured if you got you a woman you liked good enough to keep, and one that wanted to keep you back? We could bury you in the same damn hole."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"Some truth to that," Daryl said. He didn't elaborate any further. He didn't need to. "Wanted to tell you anyway—and now's as good a time as any." Merle hummed in question. "We wanna get married. Nothin' big or nothin'. Just—maybe at our house? Say some vows or somethin' like that. Just you an' Andrea. T and—that woman, Michonne, if he wants her to come."

Merle grinned at him. He raised his eyebrows.

"You mean you got her lookin' like she's just about ready to drop that pup where she stands and you just now thought you might wanna lay claim to her?" Merle asked. Daryl could hear the teasing in his brother's tone.

"We ain't never married before," Daryl said. "Ain't been in the place to have no wedding and get married."

Daryl figured it wasn't a lie. They had neither been in the physical nor the emotional place to marry before. That was the truth. He simply left a few of the facts up to Merle's interpretation. Merle hummed at him.

"You think I'ma tell your ass you can't get married or you waitin' for my blessin' or what, brother?" Merle asked after a minute.

"Just wanted you to know," Daryl said. "Wanted you to come."

"You know I'll come," Merle said. "You just say when and where."

"You got someone around here that—does weddings?" Daryl asked. "Like can marry us?"

"We ain't got no law," Merle said. "If that's what you mean. Not like—not like the world used to. Hell—don't got no church people here. But we got an old man. Was a judge. He goes by the name of Jeremiah Portman. You prob'ly ain't seen him unless you had a reason to go to his cabin. He rolls these cigarettes. Does a lotta shellin' and things like that. Mostly he stays at his house 'cause he's got arthritis in his knees somethin' terrible. That's his son, over there. Near the fire. Turnin' that roastin' spit. We found Jeremiah a chair and all, but he just prefers to stay there an' work most the time. Don't bother people too much to bring him his meals. He married me an' Andrea. I'm sure he'd marry you an' your Mouse. For as legal as shit is these days, though, I reckon you could just—do whatever you want. If we say it's legal, it's legal. Who the hell's gonna say that shit ain't?"

Merle laughed to himself, presumably over the idea of someone disputing the legality of anything these days. Daryl figured he could discuss it with Carol. He could see what she wanted. Anything was fine with him as long as it was considered official and everybody knew it was.

"What about you, Merle?" Daryl asked after a moment of comfortable silence fell between his brother and him while both of them watched people coming, going, and interacting with each other in various ways.

"What about me, Daryl?" Merle asked. "I'm livin' the fuckin' dream, can't you see that?"

"You used to say that shit sarcastically," Daryl offered.

"I ain't bein' sarcastic, Daryl," Merle said, quite sincerely.

"What about—are you like me now? You used to like variety; you know? Like you said I didn't never like it, you used to like it. Couldn't stand the same thing over and over. You changed that much?"

"I don't hardly never eat the same thing day after day," Merle said. "Variations on a theme, maybe, but they shake shit up pretty regular."

"I weren't talkin' about food, Merle," Daryl said. "What about Andrea? It don't take perfect vision to see you're pretty popular around here. Reckon you could have you some variety, if that's what you were after."

Merle smiled to himself.

"I reckon—if I went off huntin' fresh pussy around here, Andrea would suffocate my ass while I was sleepin'," Merle offered.

"You want it, then? That's all that's keepin' you from goin' after it is—fear of Andrea murderin' you?" Daryl asked.

He saw the muscles in Merle's face twitch as he struggled with the truth of the question. Daryl wondered just how much his brother had changed—just how much he was willing to admit. Merle chewed on the question a moment. Then he looked at Daryl, jaw set, and held his eyes.

"I love her," Merle said. "Or I wouldn'ta married her ass." He shrugged his shoulders. "I coulda dropped her if I wanted. Found somebody else."

"But you didn't," Daryl said.

"She knows what the hell I am, Daryl. What the hell I was. All of it. And she still curls up next to me at night and fuckin' closes her eyes. Goes to sleep. Says—she can't sleep without me. Don't want to." He shook his head. "I never had nobody like that before."

"You mean some damn body that loves you, Merle, just 'cause they want to?" Daryl asked. Merle smiled to himself. "It's an amazin' damn thing, ain't it?" Merle hummed his affirmative answer, but Daryl understood it.

"Wish to hell I could understand her, sometimes, though," Merle said with a laugh. "She gets me turned around ass-backwards."

"What you mean?" Daryl asked.

"Not three damn days ago she was snottin' an' cryin' and wanderin' around the house havin' herself a fit because—if the kid keeps on growin' right, well, she's gonna be fat. You can't see it much—not with her clothes on. But she's got a lil' you know…things are startin' to fill out."

"The way they ought to," Daryl offered.

"Way they ought to," Merle echoed. "But she was havin' her a fit about it not three days ago."

He helped himself to another cigarette, and Daryl followed suit by taking one for himself and lighting the both of them.

"Hell, Merle, I don't guess that's too crazy. Women get touchy about that shit. Maybe she figured you weren't gonna like her no more."

"Told her I didn't give a shit," Merle said. "I mean, hell, everybody knows if the kid's gonna grow, she's gotta grow with it. But—craziest damn thing of it is she spent half this mornin' walkin' around the house all snottin' and teary eyed 'cause she ain't fat yet." Merle laughed. "I'm don't know what the hell to do with that."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"I'll ask Carol about it," Daryl offered. "Other than that, all I can figure is you just—ride that shit out. That's all the hell you can do if the destination's worth the damn ride."

"I ain't too bothered by it," Merle said. "Hell—she cries about whatever it is, but it just makes her kinda…I don't know. Soft like. Comes curlin' up to me to feel better. I just wish to hell I knew how to make her feel better 'fore she got all soggy about shit I can't even begin to understand."

"Hell if I know," Daryl said. He found Carol in the crowd, many people taking advantage of the music to dance while others laughed and talked, and he watched her. He saw the moment when she made eye contact with him. He saw the renewed smile crawl across her lips until it looked like her face might break in half. He'd never had someone smile that way just to see him, and it made him smile in response. "I see Carol over there. I think—I'ma ask her if she wants to dance."

"Didn't know you danced, brother," Merle said.

Daryl laughed to himself, finished his cigarette, and ground it beneath his boot.

"Don't," he said. "But if she wants to? I'm about to learn."


	56. Chapter 56

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here! **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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During most of the time that they danced, Carol's focus remained on keeping her feet out from underneath Daryl's. When he asked her to dance, Daryl had made it quite clearly that he neither knew how to dance nor had any natural dancing ability that he'd been hiding—he hadn't lied about either of those things, and neither of those things mattered to Carol.

After a while, they established something of a natural rhythm, even if it was only natural to them and only went with music to which only the two of them were privy. They swayed and rocked together in the sunshine. Around them, other people danced from time to time, they played games, and they shared laughter and conversation.

Carol couldn't have cared less if the music changed a thousand times or went away entirely. At that moment, it was all background noise to everything that was running through her mind.

"Merle said we could ask the man to do it," Daryl said, breaking the silence that they'd guarded for a good portion of the afternoon. Carol almost felt like she was being shaken out of a deep sleep when he spoke.

"What?" She asked.

"Were you asleep?" Daryl asked with a short burst of laughter. Carol caught it. Her voice had given away that she'd been very involved in her daydreams.

"Maybe," Carol said. "Almost. I was just—relaxed."

"I'm sorry I ruined it, then," Daryl said, continuing to sway with her. He'd tensed, though, at the thought of disturbing her comfort, and that made him lose their established rhythm for a moment. He stepped on her foot, but caught himself before he put his full weight down. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's OK," Carol assured him. "It's all OK, really. Just—relax. What were you going to tell me?"

"Oh—Merle. He said that there's a man here that used to be a judge," Daryl said. "Old man that don't get out much, but he'd prob'ly marry us if we wanted him to. Also said that—if we wanted? We could prob'ly just get married, you know? Like—get Merle, and Andrea, and T…and that Michonne, if T wanted that. And we could just get married because there's really not no real chance that anybody's going to say something like it ain't legal. Nobody really gives a shit about that kinda thing no more."

"OK," Carol said.

"OK, what?" Daryl asked.

"OK," Carol said, stressing the word. "I mean—they both sound OK to me."

"But which one sounds better?" Daryl asked. "Which one you wanna do?"

"It doesn't matter to me," Carol said. "Which one do you want?"

"I don't want it to be like that," Daryl said. "I don't want you to say you want it just because I do. I saw enough of Ed to know his ass expected you to have zero damn opinions. I don't even wanna start our marriage like that—like you expect that of me."

Carol laughed to herself. She continued to sway with Daryl—following their own private music that nobody around them could hear—and she considered her words carefully.

"You're right about one thing," Carol said. Daryl hummed at her. "Ed didn't want to know my opinions about anything, and I was expected to keep them to myself."

"I don't wanna be like that," Daryl said.

"You didn't let me finish. The part where you're wrong is where you think that I expect that of you. Daryl—the reason that I said it doesn't matter to me is because it doesn't matter to me. I will marry you in front of the old man. I'll marry you with—just the two of us. Or all our friends and…family. I'll marry you in the middle of the goat pasture, Daryl, if that's what you want." Daryl snorted, and Carol laughed in response. "My point is that—I love you. And I want to marry you. But I don't care when, or how, or where that happens. As long as it happens."

The line that had formed between Daryl's brows relaxed.

"I just wanna be married to you. For real," he admitted. "And I want—everyone to know it."

Carol's heart fluttered in her chest. She tightened her hold on him.

"You tell me," Carol said. "How do you want to do it?"

"I don't know that man," Daryl said. "And—if there's no kinda law that opposes such things, I don't really care if he's there or not. So—if it wouldn't bother you, I would be just fine if it was just us. At our house—and you in your pink and white dress that you like. With Merle, Andrea, T, and…you know, Michonne, if T wants her there."

"We could do that," Carol said, offering him a nod and the reassuring smile that he seemed to need at that moment—some sign that he wasn't forcing her into something against her will, despite the fact that she'd already told him otherwise. "When?" She asked.

"I told you how," Daryl said. "And I told you where. Hell—I even told you who was gonna be there. I think it's only fair that you gotta be the one to say when."

Carol considered it. By now they'd almost stopped moving. They were barely swaying together. If anyone around them noticed or cared, nobody said anything. Everyone was engrossed in what they were doing. It was a day of celebration and, for the most part, everyone was free to celebrate in their own way.

"I—don't know whether I should give you time to change your mind," Carol said. "Or—tell you to let's hurry up and get married before you change your mind."

Daryl hummed at her.

"That just tells me we still got a lot to learn about each other. I guess—you oughta know, before you marry me, that I don't change my mind too much. Merle can tell you. My whole life I've been that way. Once I get my mind stuck on something, there's really not too much that can convince me to change it."

Carol smiled to herself.

"Do you have your mind stuck on me?" She asked. Her face burned warm at the mere suggestion, and her cheeks ached from the effort to hold back the smile that naturally wanted to take over.

Daryl nodded his head.

"I do," he said. Carol's smile renewed.

"Careful," she said, "or we'll practically be married right out here." Daryl laughed and nodded his head again. "We shouldn't do it today. Today's about the community, and it's about everyone enjoying themselves before it gets too cold and they're all locked inside most of the time. We shouldn't interrupt that. But—what about tomorrow?"

Daryl's cheeks reddened slightly.

"Tomorrow?" He asked.

"That OK?" Carol responded.

"It's—kinda quick," Daryl said.

"I thought you weren't going to change your mind."

"I'm not."

"Then does quick matter? I mean—look how all of this has happened, Daryl. We aren't exactly taking things slowly, are we?" Her stomach twisted when she saw the somewhat anguished look on his features. "What's wrong? Is it—me? Do you want—you do want to change your mind, don't you?"

"No," Daryl said quickly. "No…no…fuck, no. It's just—if that man ain't marryin' us, it means he won't be there to tell us what we gotta say."

"Our vows, you mean?"

Daryl nodded.

"And if he's not there to tell us what to say, then that means we gotta come up with it."

"Lots of people write their vows."

"But I ain't had no practice with that sorta thing, Carol," Daryl said. "I won't be good at it if I'm just tryin' to come up with somethin' that quick."

Carol smiled at him.

"What if I told you that—our vows don't matter at all?"

Daryl laughed to himself, and his forehead wrinkled.

"If they don't matter, then what's the point?"

"I don't mean that they don't matter that way," Carol said. "Of course, they matter, but they only matter as a promise. And, I can tell you from experience, that they only matter, then, if we both actually intend to keep that promise. Otherwise—they're just words. Daryl—my point is that whatever you say? It'll be perfect. Even if you just said—if you just said 'I promise to be married to you and to be the best husband I can be,' it would be perfect. Because all that matters is the promise we make to each other and…and whether or not we keep that promise."

Daryl's features relaxed again and he smiled.

"I like that," he said.

"Takes a lot of the pressure off, doesn't it?" Carol asked, laughing to herself. Daryl nodded.

"I might just—use your words," Daryl said. "That was pretty good. You just come up with that off the top of your head or you been holdin' onto it for a while?"

Carol smiled to herself. She could tell he was teasing, and she welcomed the lightness of the moment after the intermittent tension that had just occurred.

"I've been holding onto it for a while," she said. "Just in case I finally caught you in my snare and convinced you to ask me to marry you. And, of course, assuming that you would then be concerned about what to say when it came to your vows."

"Tricky ass woman," Daryl said. "I knew the whole damn time this was some kinda trap."

"You want me to let you out?" Carol asked.

"Even if you opened the damn door," Daryl offered, "I wouldn't walk out." He raised his eyebrows at her. "You know…I'm still getting the hang of all this, but…this feels like a real good time to kiss you."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I think it's perfect," she assured him.

He did kiss her. At first it was the hungry, almost savage kisses that Daryl seemed to favor. Carol indulged him. She didn't care who saw them and, clearly, neither did Daryl. Then, when he'd gotten his fill of whatever it was that he sought in the kisses, Daryl pulled back enough to allow for the softer, gentler kisses that Carol had worked on teaching him. He was a good student. He was learning, quite well, in fact.

When the kisses broke, Carol could feel her lips stinging and her face aching from the efforts put into kissing—energy well spent. Daryl, too, wore the evidence of the kisses on his face. Carol could see that his pupils were dilated, as she imagined hers must be, and his face was red.

"That was a good kiss," Carol said.

"Not too bad," Daryl agreed.

"It's probably—all the practice. They do say that practice makes perfect."

"Could still use some work," Daryl responded.

Carol smiled to herself and winked at him.

"Later," she promised. "I'm hungry and—that meat smells really good. Are you hungry, Daryl?"

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Kinda hungry for somethin' else," he said. "But it's probably rude to leave our own damn party, so I could go for some food."

Carol laughed at him. Mindful of the condition that he was dealing with, she let him set the pace as they slowly made their way toward the fires where skewers of meat and vegetables were being roasted and passed around for anyone who wanted something to eat.

Daryl stepped up and snagged two of the skewers, bringing them back to Carol at a decent enough distance from the fires that they weren't overheated.

Carol hummed in pleasure as she started nibbling at the roasted food on her skewer.

"You eat as much of it as you want," Daryl said quickly. "Don't think you don't get but the one."

Carol smiled to herself. No matter how long they'd been gone from Rick's regime of limiting everyone's intake except for Lori's, and no matter how long they'd been eating their fill in the Cedar Falls community, Daryl was still consistently reminding Carol that she could eat—and she could eat what she wanted.

"I know," she assured him. "You make sure I'm taken care of." Daryl beamed at the last addition, and Carol was glad that she made it. Though the community fed everyone, she felt like it wasn't a lie to say that Daryl provided for her. He did a great deal of the hunting for the community, and he was first to volunteer for the "dirty" jobs like slaughtering livestock. In addition, he would have argued with anyone there if he'd felt that she wasn't receiving her fair share.

While they were standing around eating, Alice—Carol's doctor—found them. She greeted them both warmly and with the same air of unexplained excitement that she always seemed to exude when she was talking to people.

"I don't want to interrupt the party," Alice said, "but I had a couple quick questions for you, Mama—and Daddy, you too— about your baby girl."

"You're not interrupting anything," Carol assured her. "Go ahead.

"OK—well, we know that baby girl is coming soon," Alice said. "But—we don't know when, exactly."

"Right," Carol agreed.

"But it wouldn't hurt to prepare a little," Alice said. "Now—I don't have much to offer in the way of birth plans. We're kind of operating on the good, old fashioned way or surgery in the case of emergency. Those are like our only two plans, really. And we don't want emergency if we can avoid it."

"I second that," Carol agreed.

"We have some space in our clinic cabin for—you know—like emergencies and overnight stays and stuff where we've got to have people right there," Alice said. "The rest of the time, you see me. You see all of us. We're all over the place checking on what we need to be checking on. I guess, my question for you is do you want me to bring over some of the mattress covers and things we've got to get your place ready or…where do you wanna have baby girl, Mama?"

Carol glanced at Daryl. He was chewing his food absentmindedly. He was staring, back and forth, between Carol and Alice. He looked intrigued and a little nervous at the same time. Carol could feel her own stomach knotting. She knew the baby was coming, and she was starting to settle into the idea that it wouldn't be that long before she came, but it was still a little nerve-wracking to actually think about delivering her daughter into the world.

"Home," Carol said, surprised at the shaky quality of her voice. "I'd like to—have her at home."

Alice smiled and reached a hand out, squeezing Carol's arm.

"Super!" She said. "I'll get someone up there tomorrow to cover your mattress—just so you have it ready if, you know, your water should break. And—sometime in the next week or so, I'd like to get you in for an exam and another scan. Maybe—if it's not too much stress for you—you might choose one of my colleagues and let them kind of be there with me? Just—so I can have a second opinion?"

Carol's stomach knotted a little more sincerely, but she nodded.

"You think she's coming—very soon?" Carol asked.

Alice smiled. Her eyes went a little owl-eyed.

"I am a firm believer in the fact that you would probably know that—like a thousand times more than me, Mama. But—I'd say…she won't wait too long," Alice said. "How are you feeling about it?"

Carol rubbed her belly with her hand. The baby clearly began to respond to Carol's anxiety.

"Nervous," Carol admitted.

"Don't be nervous," Alice said. "We'll handle it. You'll do great. You focus on when she's here, because that's the important part. The rest is just details, right?"

Carol knew that Alice was just trying to soothe her nerves. She knew that the doctor—taxed with doing everything she could to deliver the baby without incident—did not believe that the birth was "nothing." However, it did calm Carol a little that the woman was at least able to portray an air of extreme confidence in her abilities, whether or not she actually felt them.

"It kind of makes me feel like—I'm not ready at all. Like I haven't done anything I need to do to…get ready."

"Then it looks like you know what you need to do," Alice said. "Focus on getting ready. Then the anxiety will be better when everything's in order. Get everything how you like it. It'll make you feel better. But—today? Focus on eating some of this good food. I already saw the cakes that are coming out later, and believe me, baby girl is not gonna want to miss those!"

The doctor clapped Daryl on the shoulder affectionately before she walked off with little more than a quick wish that they try to relax and enjoy the rest of their day. She was clearly on some sort of mission, because she weaved through the crowd in search of someone particular.

"You nervous?" Daryl asked.

Carol nodded.

"A little," Carol said. "I don't—I don't feel like I have anything ready."

Daryl stared at her. He said nothing, and he gave no indication about what he was thinking. Then, he simply nodded his head.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "You'll have everything ready. I'll make sure of it. Just—like she said—just don't worry about it right now. Eat your food. It's good. You want—we'll start workin' out what we're gonna say tomorrow. Vows and all."

The quick reminder that, tomorrow, Carol and Daryl intended to get married in front of the people who were most important to them in the world that they now called home should have, perhaps, made Carol feel even more nervous. Instead, it had the exact opposite effect. It calmed her, almost instantly, to think that she'd go to bed, the following night, as Daryl's actual—not pretend—wife.

And the fact that such a thought—after everything she'd been through as Ed's wife—calmed her instead of making her more anxious, calmed her even more. She knew, at that moment and beyond any shadow of a doubt, that she was making the right decision.

"I'd like that," she assured him. "Very—very much." Daryl looked quite pleased by that, and Carol laughed to herself and accepted his nudging when he tapped her hand to remind her of her food. He liked to see her eat well, and he wasn't wrong—the food was delicious.


	57. Chapter 57

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl accepted T-Dog's almost continuous congratulations for much of the evening. In his life, Daryl had rarely felt that people were truly happy for him when anything good happened—not that he'd ever had too much good to happen in his life anyway—but he was certain that T-Dog was genuinely pleased about the upcoming wedding and the growing family with which he currently shared his home.

They'd shared a couple of beers while Carol had gone inside to take a leisurely shower—something that Daryl knew she enjoyed, and wanted her to have—and dedicated a little time to feeling better about her nursery.

When Daryl had finally seen T-Dog off to bed and was ready for sleep himself—sure that it must be late enough to practically be morning again—Daryl went looking for Carol. He expected to find her in bed, already sleeping. Instead, he found her in the nursery.

She didn't look to be too hard at work, but she looked to be absolutely drowning in thoughts. Daryl tapped the doorway with his knuckle as he approached so that he wouldn't startle her too badly.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Carol looked surprised to see him there, but it was the surprise of being drawn out of her thoughts. She smiled to herself after a moment and seemed to remember that she was dealing with a large stack of clothing and other items. She returned to absentmindedly folding them.

"I'm afraid you might not want to even pay that much for the mess that's inside my head," Carol said.

"I'd pay way on more'n that to know what you're thinking," Daryl said. He drained the last of the beer he was drinking and lit a cigarette for himself. "It's late. You oughta be sleepin'. She needs her sleep—baby girl." He smiled to himself. "I like that Alice calls her that."

"I like it, too," Carol said. She sucked in a breath and sighed.

"That don't sound too much like you're liking everything," Daryl offered.

"It's just—I don't even know, Daryl. It doesn't make sense…"

"Don't have to make sense," Daryl said. "You just start sayin' it. We'll put it all together, in order, later."

Carol laughed quietly.

"Like spilling puzzle pieces all over the table before you arrange them?"

"I like puzzles," Daryl said with a shrug. "Hell—maybe we oughta get one. Spread it out on a table. Could be somethin' to keep us all occupied during the winter."

"We could get a puzzle."

"Big one. Some ridiculous shit. Two thousand pieces of a picture that's like—they're all the same color."

"That would be quite the challenge," Carol said.

"I like a challenge," Daryl assured her. "For tonight, why don't you give me your puzzle, and I'll help you put it together."

Carol frowned to herself and ran her hand affectionately over her belly. Daryl watched her hand make circles, and he let his eyes take her in. He shamed himself, silently, for the rush of blood and the following semi-hardness that came when he thought about how perfect she looked just standing there in a soft nightgown that landed just at her thighs and was higher in the front where it hung over her belly—her neck, the soft curve of her jaw, her long fingers running laps around the swollen belly where the entity they hardly knew rested, her bare legs and bare feet.

It wasn't the time, but Daryl couldn't help that he thought she was beautiful, and he couldn't really help that his body responded the way that it did when it saw something that pleased him so completely.

He cleared his throat quietly and shifted his weight to hide his discomfort until it passed. He focused on his cigarette and the walls of the room—anything to keep from looking at her for a moment.

"She doesn't have a name," Carol said.

"There's plenty of names to be had," Daryl said. "We'll get her one. Whatever you like."

"I feel like—I'm not ready," Carol said.

"Whatever you need, we'll get that, too."

"I've kind of been taking inventory. I have diapers and—clothes. Clothes for both of us, really. Blankets. Rags and towels. A manual breast pump. She's got a bed and—that little bassinet could go by the bed for feedings in the middle of the night, at least until she's sleeping longer. There's a little tub for bathing her. I love her rocking chair, and I have the seat for her, so she can go with me. The wraps—so I can carry her."

"I'ma be real honest," Daryl offered, some of his earlier discomfort waning as he was able to focus on something else, "but I don't know what some of that is and I don't even know what all you need. But if you know somethin' that you're missing? You tell me and I'll go tomorrow morning and make sure we got it."

"That's the thing," Carol said. "As far as I can tell, I'm not missing anything."

"That's good, then," Daryl said. "Means we're ready."

"We're ready," Carol said, drawing out the words like she was tasting them. "I expected to have—I don't know—more time. I was further along than I thought when I got here. She just wasn't growing that fast."

"You weren't growin' that fast," Daryl offered. "She's been growin' steady, even if she was just a skinny little thing. You just weren't plumpin' up too much 'cause Rick wouldn't let you eat shit and you didn't tell me, early on, that you could stand a couple extra mouthfuls at a meal to pass on to baby girl."

"I didn't want to be a burden," Carol said. "There was so much to worry about already."

"I swear I ain't scoldin' you," Daryl said. "If that's what you think I'm doing, I'm not. I just meant—I wish you woulda told me. But—I guess it don't matter now. You're eatin' good, right? She's growin'. Found out she's a lil' older than you originally gave her credit for, but…it don't matter, does it?"

"I keep thinking that—if she makes it? Daryl, I'm going to be a Mama again. Soon. And—it almost makes me dizzy to think of holding her in my arms and suddenly…there's a baby. A little baby girl. And…" Carol's breath obviously caught and she put her hand to her chest. Daryl put the bottle down where he was, the cigarette butt slipped through the neck of it, and rushed toward her. He guided her quickly toward the rocking chair.

"You better sit down," he said, helping her to do just that. "She's gonna make it, Carol. It's all gonna be OK. And you're right, you're gonna be a Mama. You already are. You just now realizing there's a baby?"

Carol wiped at the tears leaking down her face and Daryl handed her cloth from the pile of things on the table. One rag, he assumed, was as good as another for cleaning up things that needed to be dried.

"I knew she was there, but I don't think I really let myself think about—the fact that she would really come," Carol said. "That she would really be here, and she'd really be real." She laughed to herself. "Not just—pretend."

Daryl's heart drummed hard and fast in his chest. He didn't tell Carol that he felt almost a little lightheaded, himself. He knelt down, cursing the floor for being so hard on his knees despite the carpeting, and rested in front of her. He rested his hand over the swell of her stomach, and she put her hand over his, as she often did.

"She's comin'," he said. "And—you got what you need. We'll get her a name. Even if she don't have a name right when she gets here, I guess it'll be fine. She'll get one."

"Daryl…" Carol said. There was hesitation in her voice. A pause that made Daryl's heartbeat change and his blood almost seem to freeze in his veins. He hummed to press her on, though. Carol stroked his cheek affectionately. "Babies are—so needy. They're loud. They cry and they…poop and pee. They spit up. They're messy. They want to eat, and sleep, and whine, and…sometimes you don't even know why they're crying. They keep you up all hours of the night, and they demand so much…so much…attention."

Daryl swallowed. The baby in her belly was still, at least as far as Daryl could tell. The hormones in her mother's body hadn't forced her awake yet. Usually, though, she would be responding to the fact that Carol looked a little soggy. Daryl flexed his fingers, like he could scratch her back or offer her some other physical caress through the barrier created by Carol's body.

"You—don't want her or something?" Daryl asked.

"Oh—no!" Carol said quickly. "I mean—yes, I want her. I absolutely want her, Daryl. I'm just—I guess—I want to give you a chance, Daryl. To change your mind. One last chance. Before tomorrow. Before you say you want to marry me, and you want to have to deal with everything that having a baby means. I think, when Sophia was born, Ed really wasn't ready for what having a baby really meant."

"Sounds to me like Ed weren't ready for a lot of shit," Daryl said. "Weren't ready for a wife. Weren't ready for his own kid. Weren't ready for the hell that got unleashed on all of us, an' all that's what's got his ass rottenin' outside Atlanta."

"Are you angry with me?" Carol asked. He felt her muscles move. He felt her tense. Beneath his hand, he felt the baby shift. Carol's fear of Daryl's potential anger was enough to make her body wake the little one. He remembered Carol's belief that Sophia had learned to fear her father even before she was born—that she'd learned to shy away from him before she'd even come into the world. Daryl rubbed his hand, gently, back and forth—an attempt to soothe both of them.

"I'm angry with him," Daryl said. "Didn't mean to raise my voice. Maybe—I'm a little frustrated, too. I got a lot to learn when it comes to babies, Carol, and I'm not going to pretend I don't. I never had any practice with them. And maybe you're gonna have to talk me through how to do some things, but…I thought I made it pretty clear that I'm wantin' to be here for her. For both of you."

"You did," Carol said. "But—if I hadn't really…not really…thought about what was coming, maybe I thought…you hadn't either."

Daryl's stomach knotted and unknotted. He laughed to himself.

"I guess I accept that," he said. "That's logical enough. I haven't changed my mind, though. Have you?"

"No," Carol said, smiling at him when he looked at her. She caressed his face again, and Daryl didn't really care any longer that his knees were uncomfortable in this position. He thought he might be content to spend the night like this—that he might even want to rest his head against her thigh and against her belly and sleep like this with her running her fingers through his hair and caressing his face.

"There's something I gotta talk to you about," Daryl said. "I been—thinkin' about it for a while. Never seemed like the right time to talk about it."

"Now does?" Carol asked. He could hear the tension in her voice. He could feel it beneath his hand as her body tensed. Without thinking, he hummed out an attempt to soothe her.

"It's not bad. At least—I hope it's not." She took him at face value. Her body relaxed. "Baby girl—she ain't mine. At the end of the day, you an' me both know we got that secret between us. It weren't me that…made her."

"And I'm so sorry for that," Carol said, almost immediately needing the rag that she'd been holding in her hand. "I wish—I want her to be yours…"

Daryl's throat ached. He hated to see tears running out of her eyes. He reached his hand up and rubbed his fingers over her face, catching the moisture as it ran down. He offered her the best smile he could scrounge up over his aching throat, chest, and knees.

"Then you gonna like what I'm thinking," Daryl said. "Because—I want her to be mine, too. I wanna change things. Get rid of—of Ed—forever."

"You can't," Carol said. "It doesn't work that way."

"I'm not an idiot," Daryl said. "I know how the hell biology works, but…there's still pretend, right? And we do pretty good at that. I was thinkin' that tomorrow night—'cause it's fuckin' late tonight, Carol, and you gotta sleep—we could pretend, you know?"

"Pretend?"

"When we're—married," Daryl said. "We could really pretend it. Really push him out, you know? As far as possible. Let him go forever. Not let him keep on livin' here. We could pretend that…it was us who was…hell, you know what I mean, Carol. Makin' her—as married people. Like she was comin' from us both." Immediately, hearing the words coming out of his mouth, Daryl felt like he'd been punched hard in the chest. He'd run them around in his head for some time. He'd thought about the way he wanted things to go and how he wanted to feel. Saying them out loud, though, it just made him feel foolish. "Forget it," he said, pushing himself up. "Stupid. That shit's fuckin'—stupid. And I'm sorry I said it."

"Daryl…wait," Carol said, catching his wrist as he pulled up and pulled away. With both hands wrapped around the lower part of his arm, she tugged at him, rocking forward in the chair as he pulled at her. "Wait—please, Daryl…"

Daryl felt his whole face drawing up. He didn't want to wait. He didn't want to look at her—not right that moment. His face was hot and the heat was spreading through his body, and not in a good way. He looked at her, though, because that's what marriage was about and he still meant to marry her the next day.

Her eyes were practically drowning in tears, and the tears rolled down her face, but she didn't dare to wipe them away because she'd dropped her rag to hold to his arm with both hands.

"I don't think it sounds stupid, Daryl," Carol said. "I want to—pretend with you. It's just that I know you said you were tired of pretend. You were tired of secrets. You wanted everything to be real. And I can't change the reality of—this. But I want to pretend with you. We can—get rid of Ed. Pretend together. And we can keep our secrets."

Daryl felt himself relax a little. The ache in his chest didn't fade entirely, but it did fade a little. He stepped forward to allow Carol to rock gently back into a comfortable position in the chair. She didn't release her hold on him—like she was scared he was going to run and she intended to be dragged, if that's what had to happen, to keep up with him.

"Only the most important secrets," Daryl said. "Maybe—a little pretendin' don't hurt."

Carol smiled rather sincerely through the tears that hadn't yet dried up completely. She relaxed her fingers and dropped her hands from holding Daryl there.

"I would—love it if we happened to…to conceive a baby on our honeymoon," she offered.

Daryl's face grew warm again, and there was the now-familiar churning in his gut.

"Me too," he confirmed. "But—it's late, now, Carol. And we really oughta try to get some sleep. If we don't, it's a good chance we won't even be awake to see our honeymoon."

"We wouldn't want that," Carol said. "Help me—get out of the chair?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He offered her a hand and helped her stand up. As soon as she was on her feet, he pulled her to him, and he accepted the long, sweet kiss that she gave him.

"You think that chair's hard to get out of now," he teased, "you're really gonna have a hard time if we manage to make a baby together."

Carol laughed quietly and leaned her head against his shoulder.

"You want to know a secret?" She asked.

"Always," Daryl offered.

"I've got a good feeling we'll succeed."

"Me too, woman," Daryl said. "And I can't fuckin' wait."


	58. Chapter 58

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"I think it's tradition to offer you a hand getting ready," Andrea said as soon as Carol opened the door to allow her to enter the bedroom. Andrea closed the door behind her, guarding their privacy. "Unless—I'm being presumptuous in assuming I'm something like the matron of honor. Michonne's not here yet, though."

Carol smiled at Andrea's teasing and welcomed her into the room with a hug.

"Of course you're the matron of honor," Carol assured her. "At least—as much as anyone has a role here. It's not a full wedding, really. We're just exchanging vows."

"That's what Merle and I did," Andrea said. "It was—ten minutes?" She laughed to herself. "If it was even that long. Merle was so nervous that he said his vows as quickly as he could and then it was over, and he just spent most of the rest of the day asking if that was really all there was to it." She held Carol's shoulders and looked at her. "I wanted to help you get dressed, but it looks like you've got things covered…this is beautiful."

Carol smiled to herself. She smoothed the dress, letting her hand drift a moment on her belly. Andrea immediately placed her palm near the spot where Carol rested her own hand.

"Can you feel her?" Carol asked.

Andrea hummed in the affirmative and smiled to herself.

"Sometimes I think—I can feel the baby moving around. Alice said I should be able to, but I keep telling myself that I'm just making it up. It doesn't feel strong like this."

Carol rested her own palm on the small swell of Andrea's stomach—only the beginning evidence of what was to come.

"It won't be this strong for a while," Carol said. "Not to anyone else. But I'm absolutely sure that you can feel it."

Andrea smiled to herself.

"That's what Alice says. And she says—if I'm wrong, it doesn't really hurt anyone, so it's better to just know that I can and be happy about it."

"Good advice," Carol ceded. "Honestly—maybe 'be happy' is the best advice we could give anyone right now."

"Are you happy?" Andrea asked through her spreading smile. Carol couldn't help but smile in response.

"Happier than—I think I ever imagined I could be," Carol said. It was true. Every single word of it was true.

She hadn't even imagined it was possible to be this happy when she'd been young and naïve and had married Ed—believing him to be the start of her fairy tale. When she'd been married to him, she'd certainly thought that she'd never be happy like this. After he'd died, she'd felt a sharp uptick in her happiness—and she'd had some hope for the future amid everything that was going wrong around them, especially after their escape from the CDC and the renewed appreciation for a life she'd almost lost—but that had ended abruptly with Sophia's disappearance. Carol had wondered if she'd ever know true happiness again following the loss of her daughter.

Losing Sophia hurt no less today than it had hurt the first night that Carol had lie in bed and wondered if her arms would ever again wrap around her baby girl. Carol had learned, though, how to make a space for that hurt and, more than that, she'd promised herself that finding happiness, when and where she could, wasn't some sort of betrayal of Sophia or her memory.

Sophia, after all, had always liked for Carol to be happy. She would have been very upset if she'd thought that Carol had given up even a moment's happiness in her memory. In fact, perhaps the best thing that Carol could do in remembrance of her daughter was to try to live the life that she wished she had been able to share with her—one free from Ed and full of love and happiness.

"I'm so glad you're happy. You and Daryl, both. You deserve it. Merle's so excited for Daryl. He's been talking about it all morning. What baby brother deserves and all that. You really do look beautiful," Andrea offered, stopping a moment and clearly changing gears with her thoughts. "I feel bad that—I didn't help you dress. I wasn't here to help with anything. Is there anything I can—help with?"

Carol laughed to herself. She squeezed Andrea's arm affectionately. She was clearly distracted and unsure of what to say or do.

"You can keep me company. That's what I'd like from you the most right now. The dress is simple enough to get in and out of," Carol said. "That's why I was ready so quickly. It's coming to you, next. Since it's just a simple maternity dress, it's easy on and easy off. The truth is, I'm as ready as I can be. There's nothing much to do. Have you seen Merle and Daryl?"

Andrea sat down on the edge of the bed and Carol followed her.

"Daryl's with Merle," Andrea said. "I know that much. Merle had to run do something. It had something to do with new people, from what I heard. He just needed to welcome them, let them know that he'd be otherwise occupied for a bit, and send them to get settled in. Knowing Merle, he also had to go and get a guard that could keep some watch over them until we know a little more about them."

"Did you keep a guard on us when we got here?" Carol asked.

"You slept in our house," Andrea said. "That was guard enough for one night. We already knew you, though, so it was different. Anyway—Merle suggested that Daryl go with him to show him the ropes, you know? I think some of it was to get Daryl a little fresh air, though. He's really nervous about saying his vows wrong. I don't think I've honestly ever seen him this nervous."

Carol sighed and laughed to herself.

"I told him that I don't care if he says vows at all," Carol said. "Anything he says—even if it's just that he's ready for us to be married—will be good enough for me."

"That's how I felt with Merle," Andrea said, laughing to herself. "It didn't matter. Don't tell him this, but I don't even remember what he said. He was so nervous that the only thing I could think about the whole time was just—getting him through it." She shook her head. "I don't even know if what I said made sense. I just—covered what I could remember from what I'd planned to say. The only part that I really remember is the part where he kissed me. To be honest, the kiss said everything." Andrea smiled to herself. "I can't believe you're getting married. And you're marrying Daryl. I mean—I knew you two were interested in each other since…it seems like forever, but…" She broke off and shrugged. Carol laughed to herself, catching Andrea's mood.

"I can't believe it either," Carol admitted. "But—Andrea? You married Merle."

Andrea laughed in response to Carol's words and teasingly hid her face behind her hands.

"And I let him knock me up," she said. "I mean—honestly it wasn't like I had much of a choice as far as whether or not I wanted to get pregnant. There's really no birth control—or very little. I never even had any. But…and I never thought I'd say this about Merle…he's a good man."

"So is Daryl," Carol said.

"We already knew that," Andrea said. "I think—we knew that a long time ago, at least. Rough around the edges, but…"

"Look at what Merle's done here," Carol said. "What he keeps doing every day. You did a lot of that for him. You gave him someone who believed in him, maybe. Believed he could be more than—Merle Dixon had ever been before."

"Merle said you've given Daryl something that's—all his. Something he can love," Andrea said. "Apparently, that's what Merle thinks Daryl has always needed."

Carol's stomach flipped. She was marrying Daryl in a few minutes, more than likely. Whenever the brothers returned, they would get on with the simple and short ceremony. She loved him. She believed that he loved her. Still, it seemed almost too good to be true. All of it seemed almost too good to be true.

Carol reached a hand over and took Andrea's hand, seeking the grounding and comfort she could find there. She wanted something tangible to remind her that this was real. It was all real. Andrea must have understood, because she took Carol's hand and squeezed it, offering her a sincere smile that carried all the way to her slightly damp eyes.

"Maybe that's what all Dixons need," Carol offered. "It certainly seems to be the case with Merle, too."

Andrea nodded. She raised her eyebrows at Carol.

"I guess we'll find out for sure soon," Andrea said. "It looks like, soon, Dixons will be one thing that absolutely isn't in short supply around here."

Carol laughed to herself and nodded her agreement. She continued to hold Andrea's hand, though, for the reminder that everything was real. It wasn't some kind of dream. Andrea kept her hold on Carol even after the brothers announced their return, and even after they'd let Carol know that they were ready to start when she was.

Andrea had only let go of Carol's hand to pass it to Daryl.

And, with both her hands clasped tightly in Daryl's hands, Carol felt truly anchored in reality. She felt a wave of calm wash over her. Daryl worked her hands in his, almost painfully, seeking grounding himself. She tried to send him as much comfort as she could with her eyes and her smile.

"The words don't matter," she whispered to him when she noticed his breathing picking up pace a little. He looked at her almost like he would cry, but her words seemed to soothe some of his discomfort. "You and me…we'll know the truth," she assured him, winking quickly at him. It made him smile, despite his discomfort, and that made Carol's heart pound wildly and happily in response. It also made her daughter respond with a few sharp blows to her rib cage that almost took Carol's breath away.

"You OK?" Daryl whispered.

Carol smiled reassuringly.

"She's acting up," Carol offered. "Kicking me in the ribs. I'm fine."

Merle took it upon himself to address the few people that were there, but Carol hadn't heard a word he'd said, and she was sure that Daryl hadn't either. The words that nerves hadn't kept them from tuning out, their own whispered exchange had.

"You wanna go first?" Merle asked, staring at Daryl.

Daryl looked a little like he might be sick, and Carol squeezed his hands.

"Look at me," she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. He did look at her. She smiled at him, and he smiled back with tight lips. "Just talk to me."

"I tried to come up with something good," Daryl said. "But everything I came up with was about what you said when we were talkin' about it. I love you. I—promise to be the best husband I can be. I wanna be—the best father I can be. I won't never hurt you—at least, not on purpose. And I won't never hurt her, either."

Carol smiled to herself. Daryl almost looked pained, and his breathing was growing fast again. She squeezed his hands.

"Is that what you want to say?" She asked.

"Is it enough?" Daryl asked.

"It's perfect," Carol assured him. "I love you. And I know I'm not perfect, but…I promise to be the best wife that I can be. I promise to help you in every way that I can."

She broke off, suddenly as unsure of what else to say as Daryl had appeared to be earlier. Maybe he realized that, too, because he smiled at her, this time, with reassurance.

"Hell," he said, "that's good enough for me."

"What's good enough for the bride and groom is good enough for me," Merle offered. "Anyone object? And if you do—you can file your complaint with me outside."

Everyone laughed at Merle's teasing. Even Carol welcomed the laughter. She welcomed the reminder that the marriage was important—the promise to be with each other, support one another, and love another—but the words didn't matter.

Just as she'd told Daryl, they would know what they meant.

"Hell—kiss your bride, brother," Merle said. "That way we can all get to chores, and you can get to the best damn part of it all…the honeymoon."

Merle's facial expression, and the somewhat lude gesture he made with his tongue before laughing at himself made Carol make a face in spite of herself, but Daryl quickly erased any disgust she might feel at his brother by tugging her to him and kissing her with the most conviction that she'd felt in a long time. She enjoyed the kiss. She was somewhat aware that they were being watched, but she didn't care. She lingered there as long as Daryl wanted. She tried to commit every single sensation to memory—her first kiss as Daryl's wife.

They were applauded when the kiss broke, and there were hugs and congratulations all around. Soon, Merle had ushered their tiny audience out the door, though, to allow them privacy—and to allow them to get on with what they would call their honeymoon. T-Dog had even taken a bag with him, declaring he was staying in some other cabin, even though everyone already suspected they knew where he'd be spending the night.

"So that's what there is to it, huh?" Daryl mused as soon as the door was closed and they were alone.

Carol smiled at him.

"That's what there is to it," she said. "Are you disappointed?"

Daryl shook his head.

"Tell you a secret," he offered.

Carol smiled at him.

"What is it?" She asked.

He caught her again, pulling her as tight against him as her belly would allow.

"I can't hardly believe you're my wife," Daryl offered. "I love you—more'n anything. More'n I thought I could love someone."

Carol's heart drummed in response.

"I don't think that's much of a secret," she offered. "I think—people might have gotten some idea of that today."

"Good," Daryl said with a laugh. "Let 'em spread it around."

"You know what else I think they might have realized?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed at her.

"That I love you that much, too." Daryl smiled at her. He nodded his head gently. "I know it's early, Daryl, but…do you want to go to bed?"

"Can't wait," Daryl said. "You know I gotta carry you over the threshold. I guess—the one to our room oughta do it."

"Please—I don't want you to hurt yourself," Carol protested. "Let's just skip that part."

"Don't you worry," Daryl promised. "I can carry my wife any time she needs it." He laughed to himself. "And I know enough to lift with my damn knees."

As if to illustrate his point, Daryl lifted Carol, bridal style. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned into him, trying to make her weight as bearable as possible. Still, if he struggled at all with the load he was carrying, he didn't let it be known. Instead, when they reached the door, he tipped her slightly and asked her to get the door. She opened it and he carried her inside the room, without stopping, and carried her directly to the bed.

Carol laughed to herself when he rested her on the mattress.

"What?" He asked.

"At least you aren't keeping your intentions a secret," Carol offered.

"No secrets here," Daryl assured her. "If I remember correctly—we have work to do. I don't know how long it'll take for us to make a baby, but I know we got twelve hours, easy, before T gets back."

Carol reached her arms up, inviting him to her for another kiss.

"That ought to be just enough time," she promised him.


	59. Chapter 59

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here. **

**Some (somewhat) light smut warnings for this chapter.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Without any concern for the possibility of offending T-Dog's sensibilities, Carol didn't have any reason to swallow back her voice.

Ed had hated any kind of noise during sex—good or bad. He'd seemed to hate any sound from Carol, really. She never knew when the slightest noise or the simplest word might be provocation and earn her some kind of punishment. She'd learned to bear most things in silence with Ed. And she'd learned that sex, if it was to be enjoyed at all, was silent.

But Daryl wasn't Ed.

And Daryl was a man who not only responded positively to praise, but increased his efforts tenfold if he thought he might be rewarded with a grateful moan or a validating word.

Without any worry of bothering T-Dog, thanks to his trip to some other cabin within the community for the night, Carol relaxed entirely in the bedroom. Instead of swallowing back her praises at all, she let herself be loud about them—ridiculously loud. She felt her cheeks run warm, at first, over her own proclamations of pleasure.

At her first loud declaration of absolute contentment to have Daryl inside her, he'd stopped his movement. He'd looked surprised. He'd looked, even, like he might retreat. But as soon as his brain registered that what she was saying meant that she approved, and she approved wholeheartedly, of him and what he was doing, Daryl had thrown himself into their lovemaking with a hunger that Carol had yet to experience from him.

Her sometimes docile husband grew a little rougher and a little wilder each time she verbally approved of his actions. And, as a credit to his careful attentions, he also backed off of certain explorations of her body when Carol told him that she preferred things to be a little different.

Their honeymoon night, instead of a being a night that marked the first time that they were ever sexually together, ended up being a night that marked the first time that they experimented a great deal with praising one another and profusely making requests and suggestions.

Carol was still resting, on her side, trying to get her breath back, when Daryl leaned over her shoulder and kissed her face.

She was aware that he was stroking himself. He would be ready again soon, if he wasn't ready already. As far as stamina went, he sometimes defied everything she thought she knew about men. His recovery time varied—some times he needed longer than others—but it seemed that tonight he'd somehow saved up recovery time from a lifetime before.

He nuzzled her face, bumping his nose against her to get her attention. She smiled to herself, but she didn't turn to look at him immediately. He bumped her face again and nuzzled her ear affectionately.

"You—uh—think you gonna want to go again?" Daryl asked. "Or—you done?"

Carol bit her lip. She couldn't help but smile to herself. It was a genuine question. He wasn't pressuring her. If she told him to leave her alone, he'd go without argument. He probably wouldn't even ask her to lend him a hand—or any other part of her body—in relieving the erection that he was coaxing from himself at the moment.

Carol reached her hand over, behind her, and found his hip. She patted it. She let her fingers trail over his skin without looking over her shoulder at him. She let her hand find his. She covered it. She pushed his fingers out of the way and she gently replaced his with her own. She stroked him and he shifted his hips, moving himself closer against her—taking her proximity as enough, if that's what she wanted to offer him.

"I'm exhausted," Carol said. "In the best way that I've ever been exhausted."

Daryl let out a slightly pained gasp—the sound he made when he was enjoying something, but trying to hold himself back from enjoying it too much. Carol smiled to herself.

"I'm sorry," Daryl said, putting his hand on her hip. "Or I—ain't. To tell you the truth, I'm not sure…which you want."

Carol laughed to herself and shifted her body. She rearranged her legs and pulled her hand back.

"What I want is for you to be inside me, Daryl," she offered.

He leaned up and she looked at him, this time, over her shoulder. She smiled at him.

"Yeah?" He asked.

"Yeah," Carol said. "All the way. Please."

His hand went between her legs. His fingers rubbed her. She was a little sore, and she recognized that with his touch. She could easily blame it on some of their earlier experiments with position, speed, and strength. She could also blame some of it on the fact that there had been, without question, more sustained friction than there had been in a while.

Still, the almost-pain was delicious at the moment, and Carol craved more of it. She craved more of Daryl. She rocked her hips and moaned her approval of Daryl's stroking and teasing, especially once his fingers trailed forward and found her clit to rub it.

"Daryl?"

"Hmmmm?" He hummed, breathing heavy in her ear as he pressed his face against the side of hers.

"I mean it," she said. "I'm ready."

Daryl rearranged the both of them, and Carol moved her legs as he requested. He brought them together and, as soon as he did so, he kissed the side of her face before he started moving his hips to find a rhythm.

"Easy," Carol breathed out, closing her eyes. "Oh—yeah. Go easy. Slow and easy." She moaned her approval as Daryl found something that seemed comfortable for him and felt wonderful to her.

"Like that?" Daryl asked. "You like it?"

"I like it just like that," she assured him.

This time was slow and gentle. This time the exhaustion of both of them shone through. This time was quiet except for soft declarations of pleasure and hushed moans. This time, as he came, Daryl's repeated declarations of "I love you…I love you…I love you…" were practically whispered, though the sound of them—so very sincere—still made Carol shiver.

This time, Carol was certain that Daryl was spent. Whatever superhuman ability he'd held, for most of the night, to recover at practical breakneck speeds was gone.

Panting, Daryl pulled away from her after a final kiss to the side of her face and the long, deep kiss that she rolled to offer him. He went to the stool he'd parked by the window, pushed up the window a few inches, and sat. The bedside lamp illuminated the room, and Carol used the light to illuminate her way to the bathroom. When she returned from relieving herself and cleaning up, she passed Daryl a warm, wet rag before she sat down on the side of the bed and stretched her back.

"You think that was good enough to count for a honeymoon?" Daryl asked, laughing to himself.

"I think it was good enough to count for the first few weeks of marriage," Carol said with a laugh.

"Think it was good enough to—make a baby?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself. Her heart clenched gently. She ran her hand over her belly. The baby in question was still at the moment. Sleeping, perhaps. Maybe she'd even been rocked to sleep by the motions that, thankfully, she couldn't understand.

"I think it was definitely good enough to make a baby, Daryl," Carol said. "And—there's no man in the world that I would rather have as the father to my child. Or—maybe I should say…I'm happy that you chose me to have your baby."

Daryl smiled out the window and into the darkness of the night that had descended around them while they'd been doing their best to test their mattress.

"Tell you a secret?"

"Always," Carol said.

"I like the sound of it all, you know?"

"The sound of…what?" Carol asked. "Do you mean—all the talking we tried?"

"I like that, too," Daryl said. "Don't get me wrong. I especially like—you know—that you was kinda makin' some demands there."

"I'm sorry," Carol said.

"Don't be sorry," Daryl said quickly. "Just said I liked that shit. Like knowin' what you want. Exactly. Knowin' I'm doin' what you want. Gonna hit that sweet spot for you. You know?"

Carol's face ached slightly when she smiled back at him, but his smile was genuine and it was contagious.

"I know exactly what you mean," she assured him.

"That weren't what I was talking about, though," Daryl said. He took a second and finally lit the cigarette he'd been toying with. He took a long drag off of it, sighed with satisfaction, and blew the smoke directly at the bottom of the partially opened window. "I was talkin' about—the 'my' thing."

"The 'my' thing?"

"The 'my' wife, 'my' husband, 'my' baby," Daryl said. "I mean—our baby, but…"

"It's OK, I get the point," Carol said, not wanting him to feel he needed to explain himself or correct himself. "You like the—possession."

"Yeah," Daryl said. "But I don't like to say it like that. Sounds bad when you say it that way. I don't mean it in an asshole way. I just mean—I never had shit before. I don't know. I just keep running it through my mind. Now I got a whole fuckin' life. A home. A wife. A baby. Hell—I got a fuckin' sister-in-law that's keepin' my asshole brother sober. Niece or nephew on the way. I got a whole fuckin' life, Carol. And I like it. I love—every damn part of it. But this? You, and me, and her? That's what I love the most. Havin' that. That's—that's all I meant. I like the sound of all that."

Carol's chest tightened to match the feeling in her throat.

"Daryl?"

"Hmmm?"

"That was—the nicest thing that…I think you could ever say," Carol said. She saw Daryl's face run red from across the room.

"Just bein' honest," Daryl said.

"I love—belonging to you," Carol said. "And I don't care…I don't care if anyone would say that I shouldn't. Because I do. I love…giving you that. And I love having you for my husband."

"I don't mind belonging to you," Daryl offered with a quiet laugh.

"And she's going to love being your baby girl," Carol said. "And—having you as her Daddy."

"I might not be any good at it," Daryl said. He snubbed his cigarette out and lit a new one, immediately, to take its place.

"You'll be wonderful," Carol assured him.

"I don't know that much about—bein' a Daddy, really," Daryl said. "Didn't have any real role models."

"And for that reason," Carol said, "you'll be perfect. You might not always know what to do, Daryl, but you'll always know what you don't want to do."

"And that'll be good enough?"

Carol smiled to herself. She swallowed against the lump in her throat. She ignored the dampness pooling in her eyes. Daryl, at least, understood hormones, and he didn't require her to explain her tears—not if they weren't the bad kind, as he identified them.

"That'll be good enough. Better. That'll be perfect for her. Daryl—you've never been a Daddy before, but…she's never had a Daddy before."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"We'll kind of learn together," he said.

"You will," Carol said. "You—and her—you'll absolutely learn together. And you may get to learn sooner rather than later."

Daryl stood up abruptly from his stool. Carol laughed to herself and held her hand out toward him to calm him. She realized that, unlike Ed who had been happy to leave her during Sophia's birth and who had been difficult to track down when it was time to take her home, Daryl was unlikely to want to leave her side at all. He would, probably, be as involved in the process as he could be—and she might try to do her best to spare him as much concern as possible.

"I'm fine," she promised him.

"She comin' or something?" Daryl asked, half-sitting down like he was still ready to pop back up with a moment's notice. Carol rubbed her belly and shook her head.

"Not right now. Not tonight. I only meant—soon."

"Like an hour soon or a week soon, Carol? There's different kinds of soon."

Carol laughed to herself.

"Like I don't know soon," Carol said. "I don't mean to say she's coming right now, Daryl. I only mean that—I know she's coming soon. It's just…call it instinct."

Daryl relaxed a little more on his stool, but Carol could see the muscles in his calf were flexed. He could bolt out of the room—as naked as the day he was born—if she asked it of him. He was ready for such a thing.

"Instincts are good," Daryl said. "Long as you don't hide it from me. I don't—I don't want you hidin' it from me, OK?"

Carol laughed to herself.

"Daryl—I don't think I could hide giving birth from you. At least, not for very long."

"How about you don't try and find out how long you can hide it, OK?"

"OK," Carol assured him. "Are you—done for tonight? Are you going to want…more? Sex, I mean."

"Do you?" Daryl asked.

"If you want something else," Carol offered. "Daryl—when she comes, it's going to be a while before I can do anything. I don't want you to be dissatisfied."

Daryl laughed to himself.

"Spent most of my life not fuckin'," Daryl said. "Somehow—I think I'm going to live. I'm done. Tired."

"Then—come to bed?" Carol asked, crawling under the cover and working her way over to make room for him.

Daryl laughed to himself, quietly, and snubbed out the cigarette. He closed the window and switched off the lamp even as he reached the bed.

"You sound kind of anxious," Daryl teased.

"I am," Carol said. "I can't wait for my husband to hold me while I sleep."

She heard Daryl's release of breath in the darkness.

"Yeah—well, I can't wait to hold my wife, neither," he assured her, clearly enjoying the taste of the words on his tongue. "I'll try not to disappoint you," he added as he got comfortable and gathered Carol into his arms with his body flush against her back. She sighed at the security she felt in the tightness of his hold.

"You never disappoint me, Daryl," she promised.

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**AN: So, Baby Girl Dixon (this one, at least) needs a name. I tend to like kind of simple, traditional names for Dixon babies. Any ideas to consider while I'm trying to land on one? **


	60. Chapter 60

**AN: Here we are, another chapter. **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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"I love you, Daryl," Carol said. "With—everything. But if you don't stop asking me if it hurts, I'm going to have to consider dissolving our marriage." Daryl frowned at her. "I'm kidding," she added with a sigh. "About the marriage. But—please, stop asking me if it hurts, OK? Every contraction hurts. You can just consider that your answer from here out."

"I'd stop askin' if you wouldn't just keep it all a damn secret," Daryl growled. "You won't tell me when something's happening. I have to watch you to read the smallest damn thing."

Alice had been back several times to check on Carol. Carol had spent some time in the bed, and she'd spent some time walking around the house. She'd also spent some time walking around the yard. Alice said everything looked wonderful, at least as far as she could tell, and the only thing left to do was to get labor to progress to the point that the baby would come into the world.

She'd given Daryl instructions to follow Carol's cues until her return, and maybe that was what had him frustrated. It was hard to follow cues from someone who didn't want you to know how they were feeling during the whole process.

Daryl sat down next to Carol on the side of the bed where she'd chosen to sit. He was following her around, essentially. He was letting her choose what she wanted to do, when she wanted to do it, and how she wanted to do it. He was offering her a hand when needed, something to hold onto, and the occasional bit of ice out of the freezer or a sip of water when her mouth ran far too dry.

He sighed and she reached over, patting his arm.

"I'm sorry," she breathed out. "Can you forgive me for making this so hard on you?"

He looked at her and laughed to himself. She was smirking at him.

"Asshole," he muttered. "You're the one in labor. I just thought it'd be different."

"Different how?"

"You'd be screamin' or something," Daryl said. "Threatenin' me. Tellin' me you hate me an' you don't even wanna know me no more. Somethin'. This shit ain't nothin' like t.v. I can tell you that."

Carol laughed.

"Ed thought every complaint that I ever made was ridiculous," Carol said. "My pain just—made him angry, except when he wanted to hear it. I guess I learned not to make a big deal about it if I could possibly contain it."

"I ain't him."

"I know you're not. But old habits die hard."

"Any way I can speed up killin' them habits?"

"I tell you what—I still don't feel motivated to yell at you that I hate you, because I don't, and I won't, and…even when it hurts? I still don't hate you. But—I could be a little more open. And—I could make a few more requests. Fill you in on how I'm feeling a little bit more. If that's what you want."

"That's what I want," Daryl assured her.

Carol nodded.

"OK—then I'm ready to go for a walk again."

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"Daddy is just a little extra anxious right now," Alice said, speaking to the woman who was assisting her. "I don't know if I told you. This is Mama's second and their first together. He'll be calmer next time, when he has a little experience under his belt. Mama—how do you feel about meeting your little girl? You ready?"

One thing Daryl could absolutely say about Alice was that she was upbeat today. Part of it was her personal happiness in the world. The most recent group of people to reach the community—following the radio signals that they'd sent out—included one of the thinnest blondes that Daryl had ever seen in his life. The woman would gain weight, though, with some good meals and a little time not spent on the defense. She was, apparently, a psychiatrist—which Daryl learned also meant she'd have some medical knowledge in addition to her head shrinking capabilities—and she was, apparently, Alice's partner which, Daryl had also learned, meant that they were essentially married, even though they'd had no ceremony as of yet.

Daryl couldn't imagine what it would feel like to be reunited after so much time and, in the case of Melodye—because the woman's name was Melodye—so much struggle, but he was happy for them.

Alice was also pleased, too, because the baby was coming. Daryl had heard her excitedly telling Melodye—while he'd helped them gather, carry, and prepare supplies—that Baby Girl Dixon would be the first baby born in the community that she was confident was going to make it. Daryl still hadn't decided if the statement made him feel confident, or if it simply made him feel worried about the reminder that there were no guarantees in life.

Even though Daryl might have found Alice's upbeat mood a little annoying during the past little while that the two women had camped out at the house to keep an eye on Carol and see how things progressed, it appeared that Carol did not find it annoying at all. In fact, it seemed to rub off on Carol, just a little bit, and she'd even seemed excited through a few of the harder contractions where she'd finally let Daryl know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she found the whole experience at least a little uncomfortable.

As long as Carol benefitted from Alice's bubbly positivity, Daryl could tolerate the brunette.

"I'm ready," Carol panted at her. "I'm ready."

"Good," Alice said. "Because—she's ready to meet you. We've got wait until your next contraction, OK? Then, I want you to push like you're ready to meet her. Push like you mean it, OK?"

"It's happenin' now?" Daryl asked.

"Mama's about to start pushing," Alice said. "Could be a few minutes, or it could be an hour before she's done all the pushing she needs. Mama's body is going to decide that. Mama, you want to give Daddy some direction? What do you want him to do?"

Carol's direction came in reaching out for Daryl, so he closed the gap quickly and took her hand. The whole process had turned everything he'd thought about how babies got born practically on its head. He'd expected screaming and chaos, but there hadn't really been either of those. Carol panted, more than anything else, and when it seemed to get really bad, she mostly groaned and, once, had cried tears about the whole thing.

In between contractions, Daryl had followed her around for most of the day. He'd watched as she'd practically rearranged everything in the nursery. He'd watched as she'd folded and unfolded things. He'd brought the white bassinette into the bedroom, just like she'd requested, and he'd watched her while she'd put the little sheet on it and smoothed it excessively—practically petting it while she rocked through contractions and hummed to herself.

Daryl had done a great deal of watching.

He'd also washed Carol. He'd helped her get a bath. He'd held her hand while she'd soaked a while in the tub and hummed to herself with her eyes closed.

He'd accepted that his presence there was wanted, but apparently much of this whole process was done at some distance from him—somewhere inside Carol's mind.

He didn't mind being kept distant, when that was what Carol needed, as long as she let him in occasionally—and she did. Sometimes, when she came out from inside herself, she would give him the warmest smile that she had, and she would invite him to love with her a little; to hold her and share kisses.

He'd felt how hard her belly could grow during he contractions, and he'd massaged the skin under his palm while she'd hummed to the both of them and clung to him.

"Now?" Carol asked.

"Not yet," Alice said.

"Now?" Carol asked again, almost immediately. "Oh—please…now?"

"Now," Alice said. "Let's go, Mama. You can do it. Go. Go. Keep going."

Daryl didn't know exactly what was involved in this part of the process—at least not from an experience standpoint—but he knew that things suddenly got a great deal more intense than they had been before.

Carol very nearly broke the bones in his hand, he was sure, but he gritted his teeth. If that was his pain in the whole process, he'd gladly take it. He wished, honestly, that he could take more of the pain from her. It became clear, as the process moved forward, that she was suffering more than she had been before. Her breathing was ragged and more cries—some of them sounding like desperation—escaped her as she begged Alice for updates. It seemed that Carol thought she wasn't getting enough information about what was happening, though, from Daryl's standpoint, Alice hardly every stopped giving some kind of update or word of encouragement.

He decided that, maybe from where Carol was, things seemed to be happening a little differently.

After things stepped up another level entirely—one at which Carol began requesting some kind of help that, apparently, nobody could offer, Alice spoke to Daryl instead of simply offering encouraging words to try to assure Carol that her suffering was temporary.

"You wanna see the baby coming, Daddy? Her head is almost out." Alice said.

Daryl didn't dare to take his hand away from Carol while she was clinging to it desperately, but he did crane around to get a look at things.

"Holy shit," he said.

"What?" Carol panted. "What? What is it…is she OK?" 

"I guess she's fine," Daryl said. "I can see her head—well…" Carol growled with her pushing, squeezing Daryl's hand hard, and Daryl watched as their daughter slipped further into the world. "Holy fuck—her head's out! You just done that!"

"It's out? It's out?"

"It's out!" Alice confirmed. She somewhat blocked Daryl's position, but he didn't complain at all. She was clearly doing something with intention and, at this moment, he considered what she was doing to be right up there in importance with what Carol was doing. "Mel—I'm going to need that clean blanket now. Daddy—can you help get everything off of Mama? Bare her chest?"

"Naked?" Daryl asked, giving up his position to watch things since he couldn't see well anyway.

"Naked is wonderful," Alice told him. "Mama—I've got her and I'm ready to help you with the shoulders when you're ready—take this contraction or the next, if you need a breather. She's OK and she's willing to let you have whatever you need."

Daryl quickly helped Carol out of what she was wearing. She'd put on a robe and nothing more when she'd gotten out of the bath. It was easy enough to free her arms. She wrapped both her hands around Daryl's arm in response to his proximity, and she laid into the push that got a howl of approval from Alice.

"We got her! We got her! She's here!" Alice yelled. "Hold on—Mama—she's coming to you."

Before Daryl could even wrap his mind around the fact that what Alice was mopping up in her arms was a baby, a cry filled the room. A wet, loud, cry of a strange voice that none of them had ever heard before.

Daryl smiled to himself.

"She's fuckin' furious," he said with a laugh.

Alice immediately laid the baby on Carol's chest and Carol wrapped her arms around her. She was already crying, herself, and Daryl could see that she was practically shaking violently. Alice could see it, too, so she stood a second with her hand on the baby to be sure that everything was stable and secure.

"She's OK? She's OK?" Carol kept repeating over and over.

"She looks beautiful," Alice said. "And those lungs—those are strong lungs, Mama!"

The lungs in question demonstrated how strong they were with a few more angry howls. Seeming to calm a little with the acceptance that the baby was OK, Carol drew her in tighter against her. Alice moved away from her, then, and Daryl felt every muscle in his body relax. The doctor's demeanor told him that everything was as fine as she could want it to be, even without words, and his body picked up on that entirely.

"Oh—oh baby…oh, sweet girl. Oh—it's OK. Shhhh…shhh…sweet girl. It's OK. It's all OK. Shhhh…it's fine. Oh…"

Carol's eyes were closed, but tears streamed from them and mixed with the sweat that glistened on her face. The baby seemed to accept Carol's declaration that everything was OK, because her angry screams calmed with her mother's repeated affirmations that there was nothing more tragic happening here than the event of coming into the world—and it was a tragedy that everyone had to suffer once.

Daryl leaned and kissed her forehead. Carol finally opened her eyes, and she looked at the baby.

"She's beautiful," Carol said. "Daryl—do you see her?"

"I see her," Daryl confirmed.

He would never, in a million years, let her know that the baby in question did not look too beautiful at the moment.

Alice laughed as she circled around the bed and got close enough to Daryl to brush against him.

"She's dirty, isn't she?" She said, using the cloth she was carrying to start mopping at the baby as she moved Carol's hands around and shifted the newborn.

Daryl nodded at the woman.

"We're going to clean her up really well," Alice said. "But—first, we're going to let her snuggle with Mama just a few more minutes. You want to cut the cord?"

Daryl watched Carol a second. He had never seen anyone have quite the expression on their face that she did. She was talking quietly to the baby, so that none of them could clearly hear her without truly focusing on the words, and, without a shadow of a doubt, Daryl could tell that she already loved the tiny thing with every fiber of her being.

Alice prepared the cord and told Daryl where to cut. He followed her instructions and she congratulated him like he'd done something phenomenal when he really felt like he'd had nothing at all to do with the whole process—all things considered.

"Alright, Mama," Alice said. "Can we—let Daddy and Mel have a little baby time? They'll get her all cleaned up for you and smelling pretty and we'll take care of what we have to do? I don't know if you're feeling those contractions, but we're not done here."

"I want to hold her," Carol protested.

"Do you have an outfit for her? Something sweet picked out?" Alice asked.

"Right there," Daryl said, indicating the outfit that Carol had chosen. It, along with a diaper, was waiting in the bassinet since Carol had prepared it earlier.

"Please…I don't want her to go," Carol said, snuggling the baby close.

"Can't she just keep her?" Daryl asked.

"We need to get her cleaned up," Alice said. "And—Mama? You've got some work to do. And you're going to really hate me because I've got at least two or three stitches to do here and the best I can offer you is something to bite on for a bit, if you want it. I don't have any locals. But I promise she's coming back to you, to help you feel better, and we're going to clean you up—and all this up—and then we're going to be out of your hair and all you have to do is relax, heal, and love on Daddy and that little girl, OK?"

Carol sincerely looked like she was debating whether or not this was OK. Nobody made a move in any direction until she finally relaxed a little, nodded her acceptance, and made it clear that she was going to release the baby without possibly biting anyone.

Alice stepped forward to accept the tiny infant.

"Help Daryl?" Carol requested. "He needs to hold her."

Alice smiled and took the baby.

"Absolutely," she said. She bundled the still somewhat messy baby a bit better in her blanket—the cleaning process had unwrapped her some and Carol had unwrapped her the rest of the way—and she offered her out to Daryl. He'd never felt more terrified in his life than he did when Alice moved her hands, slipping them beneath his, almost in the same way she'd done when she handed the baby over to Carol, to create a basket. "Daddy's going to help get her cleaned up. You got her, Daddy?"

The baby weighed nothing. She practically didn't exist in his arms and Daryl found that absolutely terrifying. His heart pounded in his chest. His head ached, suddenly. All he could imagine was that he was simply going to let go of her—for no reason in the world, he was simply going to let go—and he'd drop the baby.

The worst part of it was that when he looked at her, and she screwed her face up at him—some clump of something he didn't want to identify stuck to her cheek—she didn't seem to realize that he was going to drop her.

"You got her?" Alice asked.

"Yeah," Daryl breathed out, tensing at the thought of her moving her hands. The baby whimpered and whined.

Alice didn't move her hands immediately. If he did just let her go, she'd fall directly into the doctor's "basket."

"Hey—talk to her, Daddy. She knows your voice," Alice said.

Daryl's heart reacted wildly to that.

"You think?" He asked.

"I know," Alice said. "She's not crying. She's trying to take you in. She wants to put a face with the voice she knows."

Daryl smiled at the messy baby.

"Hey sweetheart," he offered. She closed her eyes in response.

"Your voice relaxes her," Alice said. "You relax her—so relax yourself. Don't make her feel nervous, OK? You got this, Daddy."

The baby did look relaxed. Daryl forced himself to relax. She flexed her fingers and then balled them up again.

Alice moved and dropped her protective basket.

"Mel—can you help Daddy? I've got to work with Mama a little bit."

"You gonna be OK?" Daryl asked, looking at Carol. She was watching him intently, and she offered him a smile.

"I'm fine," she assured him. "You just worry about her."

"I got her," Daryl assured her, feeling a little more confident in that statement than he had when she'd first come into his arms. He shuffled forward, not wanting to jostle her too much, to follow the rail-thin blonde that was beckoning him toward the bathroom.

"Daryl—"

Daryl turned back to look at Carol—she was tracking them, brow furrowed. Her full focus was on them, and not at all on what was happening to her. Daryl hummed at her in question.

"She's going to need a name, and I think…you should name her."


	61. Chapter 61

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Daryl had admittedly let the blonde do most of the proverbial heavy lifting when it came to washing the baby. He hadn't really considered how tiny and delicate the baby would look. He hadn't considered how big and dangerous he would feel in her presence.

His hands shook when he held her.

Melodye helped him wash the baby, her own small fingers seeming much more suited for the job. She seemed to have some skill at this—either learned or simply innate—that Daryl didn't feel he was born with. When the baby was clean and dry, she'd worked with Daryl a little to fasten her tiny diaper and dress her in the outfit that Carol had chosen.

"It's such an important day for all of you," Melodye had said. "It's your first day together."

"She's been here, with us, for a while now," Daryl had responded. He'd gotten a warm smile in response.

"She has, but it's her first day as an independent person. And that's a big day for everyone."

Daryl couldn't and wouldn't argue with that. Before they'd fully finished with the baby, they'd gotten the question from the bedroom about whether or not they'd be done soon. Alice, it seemed, needed Daryl's assistance. He left the baby in what he felt to be Melodye's very capable hands, and he rushed into the bedroom—half nervous to find out what Alice needed, but telling himself that she'd sound much more frantic if there were something wrong.

In the time that they'd been working on cleaning and dressing the baby, Alice had finished with what she had to do with Carol. She was cleaning up so that she and Melodye could leave them for a while. In anticipation of the birth, they'd stripped the bed down to the bare necessities, and she had half the dirty fitted sheet off.

"Can you help me with Mama, Daddy?" Alice asked.

Daryl smiled to himself.

Carol looked smaller to him, in general, than he remembered her being. She looked delicate. Maybe it was simply because he was feeling so giant and imposing at the moment. She smiled at him.

"I don't have my sea legs just yet," she said. "I'm sorry."

"That's not entirely true," Alice said. "Mama tried to pop of the bed like a Jack-in-the-Box, and she would have succeeded, but I stopped her. I don't have much in the way of pain medication to offer her, but I did give her a shot of something I do have. It'll have no lasting effects on Mama or Baby Girl, and it'll be out of her system in a couple of hours, but it should take the edge off for a bit. It might make Mama loopy, though, and I'd rather she run laps with assistance if that's what she's feeling up to. I can't make the bed, though, and give her a hand."

Daryl felt his stomach untangle from any concern that he had. He walked over, worked his hands easily under Carol, and lifted her. She leaned her head against him.

"I'm going to be really quick, Daddy," Alice said, backing off from the bed. "I'm going to trade out with Melodye, OK? I want a good look at Baby Girl before I leave."

"Take your time," Daryl said. "Holdin' Carol ain't no problem for me."

Alice grabbed her bag from the mass of items that she'd moved in throughout the day, and she slipped into the bathroom. A moment later, Melodye came out and started to work on the bed, restoring it to how it normally looked.

"You don't have to hold me. You can just stand with me," Carol offered. "It's only a precaution."

"I got you," Daryl assured her.

"I'm too heavy," Carol protested.

"You're lighter'n you were on our honeymoon," Daryl offered. "Got all that baby outta there."

"When do I get my baby back?" Carol asked. "You're going to think I'm crazy but—I miss her."

"I don't think you're crazy. We won't hold her hostage, either. You'll get her back just as soon as we get you settled," Melodye answered. "And I'm working as hard as I can. Daryl—we put those ice packs in the freezer, remember? Alice wanted her to have those so she can use them whenever she's ready. Try to make sure it's not on too long—fifteen to twenty minutes, if you can, per hour. Only when she needs them. You don't want to restrict blood flow too much, because that's necessary for things to heal."

"I saw 'em," Daryl responded. He knew where the ice packs were—brought from Alice's freezer at the clinic to the freezer in the kitchen. He hadn't asked, but he was guessing what they might be for.

"OK—I think that's good enough to put her down," Melodye said. "The bed's clean and comfortable. Al—is everything OK?"

"We're coming," Alice called. There was some crying, clearly from the baby. "We're just double checking that everything is cleaned up. Baby Girl has some strong opinions."

"Oh—bless her heart," Carol lamented. "I'm ready for her…"

"I'm going to get Mama some Tylenol," Melodye said, starting to gather soiled linens and cleaning supplies that she and Alice had brought. "It's not much, but it'll help while everything's healing. We'll bring that and a few other care items for her and Baby Girl."

"What do I do?" Daryl asked, sitting down on the bed next to where he'd situated Carol.

"You do exactly what you're doing," Melodye said. "Take care of your wife. Take care of your brand-new baby. Mama will tell you what she needs. And if something doesn't seem right? You come and get Alice or me. Or, if someone's around, you can send someone to get us. I'm sure you'll want a little quiet time for a while, though."

"Yeah. I'd say I'd send T because he lives here," Daryl said, "but I don't imagine we're seeing him for a while."

"The last I saw T," Melodye offered, "was when you pointed him out to me. And if you don't mind me saying, he looked like he was trying to talk up a baby of his own."

Daryl and Carol both laughed, but Daryl could tell from Carol's fidgeting that she was hardly able to focus on anything beyond getting the baby back in her arms.

"Here we go, Mama," Alice said, coming from the bathroom. Carol was almost out of the bed, reaching in the woman's direction. Daryl practically had to hold her down. Alice brought the bundle over and placed the now-clean infant in Carol's arms.

"Oh—look at you!" Carol breathed out. "That was too long. Oh…it was too long…Is she OK?"

"She looks great, Mama. No worries, OK? And now you don't have to give her up anymore," Alice offered. "Not until you're ready to show her around a little, but there's no rush on that. Do you know how to nurse?"

Carol nodded, nuzzling the baby that was currently trying to sleep.

"Great," Alice said. "I want you to nurse her, OK? Whenever she wants, as much as she wants. There's no such thing as holding her or feeding her too much, OK? She's a tiny little thing, so we want her to bulk up. She should ask to feed—you know how that looks, right?" Carol nodded and hummed. "She should ask to feed within a couple of hours at the latest. If she doesn't or anything seems off, you let me know, OK?"

"I promise," Carol assured her.

Alice smiled.

"Good. We're gonna take all this…shit we brought, and we'll get out of your hair. We have a little cart outside. Daryl—can you help us load up?"

Daryl looked to Carol to ask her if she was fine. She smiled at him, warmly, and nodded.

"Go ahead," Carol said. "Stretch your legs. Smoke a cigarette or two. You've been cooped up inside all day. We're fine."

Daryl nodded. He leaned and kissed Carol. He eyed the sleeping baby, but he didn't dare to touch her and risk waking her.

"I'ma be right back, woman," Daryl said. "I'ma leave the door open. I can hear you if you call for me."

She accepted this and Daryl helped Alice and Melodye to gather up everything. They'd moved it into the house in several different loads from the little cart they'd borrowed to haul everything they might need, but it was all going out at once.

Outside, Daryl helped load things on the little cart, and then he immediately helped himself to a cigarette. When Alice asked for one, he gave her one and lit it.

"Thanks for everything. Really. You need me to pull all this shit to the office for you?" He asked.

"My pleasure—any time. I'm always up for bringing another human into the world. Remember that when Mama gets baby fever again. As far as pulling all this?" Alice said. "I'm a hawse. Can't you see that? I've got it. You spend some time with Mama."

Daryl nodded his head. He didn't realize how accustomed he was growing to the woman after they'd spend so much time together in anticipation of the baby's arrival.

"Anything I should know?" He asked. "Be honest."

Melodye and Alice exchanged looks with each other that clearly allowed one to ask the other if there was anything they could think of. Shrugs and half-shook heads were answer enough to say that there was nothing majorly important.

"She's going to know what she needs," Alice said.

"Alice did tell me that—it's her second baby?" Melodye said.

Daryl nodded, his stomach tightening.

"Sophia—her daughter—died prob'ly like seven or eight months ago, now," Daryl said. "Got—lost. Torn up by them things. Turned."

"She wasn't a baby, though," Alice said.

"Ten-ish," Daryl said. "Why?"

"Just—you might want to be aware of Mama's potential mental state," Melodye offered. "She's probably going through a lot. Maybe more than she's going to say or—maybe even more than she fully realizes right now. It's possible that this new baby is going to cause her to grieve, again, for her first."

"She never got to really grieve for her no way," Daryl said. "There wasn't really time. It was all about survival."

Melodye nodded her understanding.

"I just wanted you to know it might not start right away. It might come in waves. People might ask her, over and over, if it's her first baby," Melodye said. "Maybe they'll—give her advice for a first time Mama. My point is to just be gentle with her when it comes to emotions. Realize they might be all over the place."

"They're gonna be all over the place because she just had a baby," Alice said. "Go ahead and buckle up, Daddy, it's going to be a bumpy ride while her hormones get settled."

"What I'm trying to say is that there might be even more than there would be if this was just a first baby or a second baby and, as it is, and not a baby born after a loss," Melodye added.

"Thanks," Daryl said, nodding his head. "I'ma keep that in mind. I swear I will. But—whatever it is she needs to do? I'ma let her do it. That's all the hell there is to it. Ain't gonna lie—I didn't understand why she was in labor and supposed to be screamin' at me, from what I understood about labor, and she was insisting on refolding every damn thing in the nursery twice and then beggin' me to hold her and rub her belly." Daryl shrugged his shoulders and laughed to himself. "Figured—those are the secrets of the universe. For women only. It ain't for me to understand. It was just for me to—hold her when she asked and hand her more shit to fold when that was what the hell she needed."

"Sounds to me like you might just be a man on his way to understanding the deepest fucking secrets of women, as you call them," Alice offered, laughing to herself. "Many people have been working a long time and still haven't reached the level of understanding that you seemed to have achieved during your wife's labor. You're going to do all right. Let us know if any of those secrets get you too stumped, OK?"

Daryl thanked both the women, accepted the hug that each of them thought was appropriate after so many hours spent keeping vigil together, and sat down in a chair on the porch to smoke a second cigarette and consider the matter of the tiny baby girl's name.

Daryl wasn't much good at naming things. He'd never had much opportunity to do it because he'd never had anything that was really his—at least not long enough that it required a name. He tended to think of himself as relatively simple and, therefore, calling something what it was seemed absolutely sufficient.

He knew that Baby Girl Dixon, however, couldn't very well go through her whole life with the name Baby Girl.

Daryl thought on it while he smoked his cigarette. He let his mind run back over his life and, especially, over the part of his life that had been the best—the time he'd spent with Carol. He considered everything that might possibly be a suitable name for a baby girl that was new to the world and barely big enough to notice.

Finally, he got up and went inside, stopping by the kitchen for water and a snack for Carol. He was sure that if she didn't want it now, she would want it soon. He could go for a meal for them later.

In the bedroom, Carol looked blissfully happy. She was propped on her pillows and the baby had accepted a breast.

Carol smiled at him when he came in the room—the kind of smile that made her nose crinkle. Despite the obvious fatigue in her eyes, her smile communicated the purest kind of happiness, and it looked beautiful on Carol.

"She's eating," Carol said.

"So I see," Daryl said. "You doin' alright?"

"I'm perfect," Carol said. "I mean—I'm tired and…I know I'm sore, even though it's like it's around the edges of my mind with whatever that shot was that Alice gave me. But—I don't care. Does that make sense?"

Daryl laughed to himself. He eased down on the bed next to her, careful not to jostle her too much.

"Makes perfect sense," he said. "You can feel however the hell you wanna feel." Carol leaned up a little and Daryl slipped his arm behind her. She leaned against him and he pulled his legs up onto the bed, fitting himself into the little space beside her. The baby was practically sleeping, and he didn't know how much eating she could really do in that state, but she hadn't let go of Carol and Carol wasn't pushing her off. "Thought about her name."

"What did you decide?" Carol asked.

"If you had somethin', then I wouldn't be offended if you wanted to name her," Daryl said.

"Tell me yours, first," Carol said.

"I'm not good at it," Daryl warned.

"I'm sure you are. I want to hear it."

"I was thinkin' that—she was what brought me and you together," Daryl said. "Sophia—she started it. But—I hate to think how damn long we woulda spent just…wastin' our time. If it hadn't been for you bein' pregnant. So, she kinda brought us together. And—she's what got us outta there—who the hell knows if we'd've even lived, stayin' too much longer with the group. She give us somethin' to work toward. A future. Hope that—things could be a whole lot better than they were."

"She did," Carol said, smiling to herself as she kept her eyes glued on the little thing in her arms.

"She's give this community some hope, too," Daryl said. "For a real future. First—healthy, live-born baby they got. That's a big thing."

"It is," Carol agreed.

"I was thinkin'—she's kinda like our own little Cherokee Rose. So—I was thinkin', what if we just call her Rose?"

"Rose?" Carol mused.

"If you hate it," Daryl said, unable to finish, but also feeling that he didn't have to finish.

"I love it," Carol breathed out. "Does—Rose—have a middle name?"

Daryl's stomach tightened. There was something in Carol's tone of voice. Maybe she was feeling all those feelings that Alice and Melodye suggested she might. Maybe she was just feeling the same kind of feelings that Daryl was—because he was feeling his own sort of overwhelm, even without the aid of all the hormones that Alice suggested might be flooding Carol's body.

"What was Sophia's middle name?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled to herself. Daryl didn't miss that her eyes were starting to puddle with tears. He didn't say anything about it. He simply brushed his finger under her eyes to wick away the warm droplets.

"Marie," she said.

"Then—maybe she ought to have that one," Daryl said. "That way—she's always got a piece of Sophia with her." He wicked away a few more tears that fell hot and quick from her eyes. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I shouldn'ta said that. We can pick somethin' else."

"No," Carol said. "No—I love it, Daryl. I was just thinking—how much I loved Sophia."

"I know you did," Daryl said.

"And—how much I love Rose already."

Daryl smiled to himself.

"I know you do," he said. "And it's good. She's gonna need that. Deserves that."

Carol looked at him and he brushed another tear away with his palm. She gave him a smile that was slightly pained from everything she was working through at the moment.

"And I was thinking, Daryl, about how much I love you."

Though he didn't feel that he could respond at that exact second—his own throat having had some reaction that had practically closed it up—Daryl thought he communicated his response to Carol, well enough, in the kiss that he placed on her lips.


	62. Chapter 62

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here! **

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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When Daryl was sure that Carol was situated and didn't need him for a little while, he slipped down to the mess hall to get them food. On the way there, he was greeted by nearly everyone he saw with a handshake, a pat on the back, or a smile. Everyone congratulated him on Baby Girl's safe arrival into the world. Apparently, to put minds at ease, Alice had let everyone know that mother and baby were doing well, and that the family needed a little quiet time to get to know one another and to welcome Baby Girl properly into the world before they were ready to show her around.

At the mess hall, Daryl fielded more congratulations, and more touching, as people took the opportunity to let him know that they were happy for his family's good fortune and, to some extent, the good fortune of the whole community.

Daryl ran into Melodye at the mess hall as she was finishing up her own meal. She asked him to wait for her, and he shared the last few minutes with her that it took for her to clean the plate that had been set in front of her, while he waited for them to pack up the food for he and Carol in a way that would be easy to carry. When he had his food, and Melodye was through eating, she walked with him back to his house, carrying the small tote of things that she and Alice wanted to deliver to Carol.

Along the way, she also shared some advice with Daryl—things that she'd thought of for him to know and consider as he was growing accustomed to their little family. At the door, she'd given him the bag and opened the door for him to pass inside, mindful of his overflowing hands, and she'd tossed her farewells at him as she closed the door.

Daryl carried everything—the food, the tote bag of assorted goods, the advice, and the congratulations of the community—back into the bedroom where, for at least a little while, he imagined they would be holed up.

Daryl dragged over a little table from the corner of the living room to create a small area for holding the food next to the bed. He unpacked and arranged the food, and he shook out a couple of pills from the bottle that Melodye had given him and offered them over to Carol to go with her meal and her glass of water.

"What is this?" She asked.

"I think it's just generic Tylenol or some shit," Daryl said. "Don't really matter. Your doctor sent it. Along with orders that you gotta eat and get some rest. Then, when you've had some sleep, we're gonna get you a bath."

Carol didn't argue at all. She obediently swallowed down the pills, washing them down with water that Daryl poured into one of the glasses from a jug he brought from the kitchen.

"How you wanna do this?" Daryl asked. "You wanna—put her in that basket while we eat?" Daryl asked, moving the bassinet closer to the bed.

Carol eyed the thing like Daryl had just brought over a live alligator and suggested it as a suitable babysitter during their meal.

"She's awake," Carol said.

Daryl peered at the baby girl in Carol's arms—now free from the bindings of her blanket. She was awake. She wasn't doing much of anything, as far as Daryl could tell. She seemed content to simply stay, just like she was, somewhat glancing around her in between long—very long and very dramatic—blinks.

Daryl assumed that Carol's response—given very matter-of-factly—was a reasonable response to his obviously horrifying suggestion that the baby should be condemned to the basket, which had been prepared especially for her, for the fifteen or so minutes that it would take them to consume food.

"You want me to hold her while you eat?" Daryl asked, changing his strategy and keeping firmly in mind some of the things that Melodye had said to him. "You gotta eat. That's not even up for negotiation, Carol."

Carol laughed to herself.

"I'm going to eat," Carol said. "She needs me to eat for her milk. But I can manage with one hand."

To demonstrate, she worked herself to shift positions in the bed so that she was sitting a little more upright against her pillows. She winced, once or twice, as she wiggled herself around, but Daryl didn't bother her with questions about what was wrong or making her uncomfortable. He'd seen the baby come into the world, and he knew exactly where stitches had been necessary to help with the bleeding, so he had no need to force Carol into discussing what exactly she might find uncomfortable for the next little bit.

Instead, he offered the only help that he had beyond the Tylenol that she'd already taken.

"You want one of them ice packs?" Daryl asked.

Carol smiled at him sincerely. The way she looked at him, for a moment, made his neck and face run warm. She looked at him like he'd offered her something wonderful and romantic—and not an ice pack to cool down regions of her body that he imagined were feeling quite furious about what they'd been asked to do while bringing their baby girl into the world.

"No," she said. "Not yet. Melodye was right. It'll heal better if I just—let it heal as much as possible. I don't want to restrict the blood flow too much."

"She said don't use it too much," Daryl said. "Not—don't use it at all."

"Later," Carol said. "Really—I'm fine right now. I just moved and—the stitches pulled."

Daryl grimaced involuntarily. Carol laughed quietly.

"Sorry," she offered.

"No…I just…"

Daryl didn't finish, and Carol didn't press him to finish. Once she was situated and comfortable, Daryl fixed it so that she could reach her food on the little table. He arranged his own plate in his lap and sat on the side of the bed to keep her company.

"Everyone in the whole place sends their congratulations," Daryl offered. "Hell—people I don't think I've ever even seen before was comin' up to me and sayin' that they were so happy things went well and that everybody's doin' good. They were tellin' me to give you their congratulations and all that, like I could remember everyone."

Carol smiled to herself while she ate, leaning a little to the side like she was trying to avoid spilling food on the baby if she dropped anything. Daryl got up and found a couple of towels. He draped one over Carol and the baby so that it somewhat shielded the baby from falling food. He ran the other from Carol to the table so that she wouldn't drop food in the bed.

"I should've just moved to sit on the edge of the bed," Carol said.

"If it's all the same to you," Daryl said, "I'd rather you just stayed like you are for a bit longer."

"Thank you for—taking care of me," Carol said.

Daryl didn't expect such a simple statement to make him feel like his face was burning warm again. Carol's appreciation was clearly genuine, though, and wholehearted.

"I told you I would," Daryl said, cramming a little more food into his mouth than he'd intended to try to give himself some excuse for not saying more. His throat was a little tight, so he immediately regretted his choice. He focused on very carefully chewing his food—more carefully than he could ever recall doing in the past—so that he would have time to get his throat to relax instead of choking to death on his dinner.

If Carol noticed his predicament, she let him keep his dignity and didn't say anything about it.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Carol offered after a long moment during which Daryl focused on not choking to death and Carol focused on shushing the few noises of discontent that the baby let out. Daryl watched her as she rearranged the little one, trying to find her a position that she liked better than her current one. Finally, settled against Carol's chest, the baby seemed satisfied.

"Always," Daryl offered.

"I feel a little—I don't know the right word," Carol said. Daryl let her have a moment of quiet to find it. Instead of interrupting her, he passed her the last of the rolls that they had left from the batch he'd brought for their meal. "Embarrassed? Uncomfortable?"

"Embarrassed about what? Uncomfortable like you want that ice pack uncomfortable or…?"

Carol laughed to herself. Her cheeks ran very visibly red.

"Like—I'm not used to someone taking such good care of me," Carol said. "And I feel—almost useless. Like I'm not doing anything or…I'm not taking care of you. I'm taking advantage or…"

She stammered out the words. The word that she couldn't find before suddenly came out in a rush of words now.

Daryl let her finish. He could feel that what she was saying was the truth. What she was dealing with made her feel uncomfortable. He wondered if the baby could feel it, too, because she suddenly stiffened and started to fuss. Carol directed her attention the little girl, and when she commented that she thought she might be wet, Daryl went over to the chair in the corner that was laden with the baby's things and brought Carol another diaper.

"Thank you," Carol breathed out.

"What else you need?"

"A damp rag," Carol said, almost sheepishly.

Daryl decided that he'd address her concerns, but he would only do so when he was able to sit down and be face-to-face with her again. He wet a rag and squeezed it out in the bathroom sink. When he brought it to Carol, he asked her if she was done with her food. Most of it was gone, anyway, and she said she was. While she tended the baby, Daryl cleared the food and plates away to carry, later, back down for washing and reusing.

When he came back into the bedroom from finishing his self-assigned task, Carol was clucking at the baby and patting her back, soothing over the suffering incurred by the changing of a dirty diaper.

Daryl sat down on the side of the bed next to her. He patted her leg under the blanket.

"I'ma start by sayin' that I understand what you're saying," Daryl said. "Because—sometimes, when you do things that I'm not used to…things I never had before? It makes me feel kinda warm. I guess embarrassed is the word, but it ain't like embarrassed like—I just fell down the porch steps 'cause I weren't paying attention. But it's just like—I don't know how to do this. I like it, but I don't know how to do it."

"What kinds of things?" Carol asked with a smile that turned up the side of her mouth.

Daryl licked his lips and reached for the glass of water he'd moved to the nightstand with Carol's water glass.

"When you make me feel like I do things right all the time," Daryl said. He felt his face burn warm just at the simple putting-together and spitting-out of the words. "Nobody ever—made me feel like I did a single fucking thing right before. You make me feel like everything I do is right."

Carol gave him that look—that soft look where her eyebrows just barely knitted together. That look always felt like it could penetrate straight inside Daryl's chest and squeeze his heart.

"I think that—maybe not everything, maybe that's impossible—but I think that almost everything you do is right, Daryl," Carol said.

Daryl laughed to himself. The renewed warmth surged into his face and the laughter was an insincere effort to keep from suffocating on the feeling.

"Then—you'll understand what I'm saying," Daryl said. "What I feel is just—how I feel. What you feel is how you feel. Carol…you been in labor for a long time. I don't think I coulda held out that long. And then…hell, I saw how she got here. I saw what you had to do. What you did. You said—she's my daughter…"

"Of course she is," Carol breathed out. "As long as—you want her."

Daryl simply nodded his head.

"You know I do," he said, to erase the slight sign of concern that crawled across Carol's features. "You don't gotta worry about that. Not ever, OK? My point is—you gave me a daughter. You did all that to give her a life and…you gave me a daughter. What the hell else kinda…payment…or whatever…do you think I need for…what? For handin' you a couple things you need and bringin' dinner so you could build your strength back up?"

Carol blew out her breath like she was focusing on stilling herself. She visibly relaxed into her pillows, and she rearranged the baby, again, that was whining quietly while she took in the world through eyes that were barely slits.

"I just don't want you to feel taken advantage of," Carol offered.

Daryl laughed to himself.

"And I'd kinda like it if you'd—take advantage of me, woman. Just a little. Just—for a couple days, OK?"

Carol smiled to herself. As she was relaxing with her secret out in the open and some of her fears allayed, Carol's own eyes began to grow visibly heavy. She sighed, almost seeming to let out the last of her stored-up energy with the exhalation.

"You promise you'll let me know if it's too much?"

"You got my word," Daryl said. "Now—how about you do somethin' for me? Even if I'm pretty sure you aren't gonna like it." Carol hummed at him in question. "Let me see her for a couple minutes. And you—close your eyes. Just for a bit."

Daryl saw the quick look flit across Carol's features and he didn't take it personally. She didn't fear him, and she didn't fear his taking care of the baby. What she feared, he was certain, was letting her brand-new daughter out of her sight. She did let him take the baby out of her arms, though. The baby opened her eyes, for a split second, at the changing of hands, but then she closed them again as soon as Daryl hugged her tight against his chest. She flexed her fingers, and Daryl felt every muscle in his body tense before he willed himself to relax.

As soon as she was settled, Daryl let out the breath he'd been holding. He gave Carol the best reassuring smile that he could.

"Please get just a little rest, OK? For me. Don't worry—we'll both be right here when you wake up."


	63. Chapter 63

**AN: Here we are, another chapter here.**

**I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! **

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Once Daryl relaxed a little, he felt more confident about holding the tiny little bundle in his arms. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed content to sleep right where she was. Daryl glanced at Carol. In the bed, she'd closed her eyes and her head had lolled to the side already. Daryl stayed, standing where he was, for a moment longer—looking back and forth between mother and daughter. The sight made him feel like his heart might actually blow up in his chest, but in the best way he could possibly imagine.

Carol had been devastated by the loss of Sophia. She'd been such a good Mama—always looking out for the little girl and willing to do anything she could to protect her from anything, even things she really wasn't capable, at the time, of fighting off.

Losing her daughter had nearly broken her. And, if he was being honest, it had nearly broken Daryl, too. He'd wanted very little in life more than he wanted to bring Sophia back to Carol.

Their baby girl wasn't Sophia, and she would never take Sophia's place, but Carol's arms would be full again, and so would her heart—even if there was always a part that would remain somewhat shattered.

Holding the tiny thing, Daryl knew that he'd do anything he had to do to make sure that the baby grew and had a good life. He'd do anything that he had to do to make sure that Carol never had to suffer losing her.

He didn't want to lose her, either, and they'd only really just met.

When Daryl was satisfied that Carol would honor his wishes and sleep just a little to build up her strength—for the baby's sake if for nothing else—he eased toward the bedroom door with the infant. He almost felt like he'd committed some crime and was running away with some precious treasure. Rose was a precious treasure, he supposed, and the thought made him smile.

"Daryl?" Carol said, her voice already giving evidence of the proximity of sleep.

"Hmmm?"

"Where are you going?"

"Just in here to give you some quiet," Daryl said. "Please don't make me beg you to sleep, OK? I'ma ask you that as nice as I can. You need your strength, Carol. For her if for nobody else. She's gonna need you, an' you gotta sleep. Please don't make me beg you."

"I'm going to sleep," Carol said quietly. "Only…"

"What is it?" Daryl asked when she broke off. "You need somethin'?"

"If she needs to nurse…"

"I'll wake you," Daryl assured her. "If she needs you, I promise I'll wake you. You just get what sleep you can 'fore then, OK?"

"Daryl?"

Daryl did his best to control the sigh of frustration that nearly escaped him.

"Hmmm?"

"I love you," Carol said.

Daryl immediately regretted his frustration. He felt the familiar warmth in his chest and the funny little quiver in his gut that often came when he heard Carol speak those words—especially when they were unsolicited.

"I love you, too, woman," he assured her. "Get some sleep."

She didn't say anything else. Daryl didn't turn back to look at her, but he did hear her adjusting herself in the bed. He eased out of the bedroom door, and he closed the door carefully behind him. He walked carefully, nervous about jarring the brand-new baby. She didn't seem to mind his movement, though, or even the heavy step of his boots. He carried her to the nursery, and he eased down into the rocking chair. It was a comfortable rocking chair, and Daryl sunk back into it and began rocking it with his foot.

"Rose Marie Dixon," Daryl said out loud, tasting the words on his tongue and seeing what it sounded like to his ears. It was the first time he said it, and it seemed strange to think that it was a new name, hardly ever uttered in the world, but soon it would be one of the most familiar sounds he'd ever heard. He smiled to himself. "Baby girl," he offered out loud, the more familiar name almost like a balm to the anxiety that he'd collected throughout the day.

With the baby sleeping safely in his arms, and Carol sleeping safely in the other room, Daryl realized how exhausted he was. He'd done hardly nothing—all things considered—but he was tired. His muscles ached from tension and stress. Daryl sunk happily into the chair and reached over, rifling through a basket of baby odds and ends that was on the table and ready for Rose's arrival. There was nothing much to hold his interest there, but there were things that the baby would need.

Daryl turned his attention back to the sleeping baby. He saw her, eyes barely open, staring at him through slits. She was neither entirely dedicated to sleeping, it seemed, nor to staying awake. She was teetering somewhere in the world between the two.

"Hey sweetheart," Daryl offered, smiling at the baby. "You playin' possum. I see you. I don't know—if you remember me or…really recognize me, but…I'm gonna be your Daddy. There's a whole long story behind that…but I ain't gonna tell you the whole thing right now. Not while you're little. When you get grown, we'll tell it all to you. I don't guess it all matters too much for now, though. You wouldn't understand most of it since you just got here." The baby opened her eyes wider like she might dedicate herself to staying awake, and then she closed them tight again before she relaxed her lids once more and yawned.

Daryl hefted her body, gently. He paid attention to it—to the way that it felt when he lifted her. He lowered her, and he burrowed a tiny hand out of the bundle her mother had made of her. She had perfect little fingers—tiny—and she curled them around the fingertip that he offered her. She flexed her fingers, and then she curled them tight again.

"I love you," Daryl whispered to her. He couldn't help but smile. It was true. He did love her. In some ways, he'd only just met her, but he knew it to be true. He loved her already. He loved her and he loved Carol until he felt nearly ready to burst from the feelings alone. "Your Mama's done gone through an' checked you for all your parts. I saw you when you were gettin' washed up. When Melodye washed you up. You got everything just right. You're absolutely perfect. I'm guessin'—liftin' you up? There's hardly anything to you. I'd say you weigh like five pounds, maybe. Don't worry, though, your Mama's gonna feed you every time you want it. Before long, you'll be puttin' on the weight and really fillin' out."

She opened her eyes to him again. She looked almost angry. Her little brow furrowed. Daryl smiled in response to her expression.

"Why you look so pissed?" He asked. "I'm not talkin' too loud. Is it still too loud for you?" He lowered his voice just a little, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference. He kept talking because it gave him something to do and kept him awake—because he felt, more and more, like he could sleep right where he was. "You used to like it when I talked to you. Do you remember that or—does somethin' happen when you get born and you suddenly can't remember what came before?" She didn't respond, of course. Daryl wasn't an idiot, and he didn't expect her to respond. He didn't really expect her to comprehend what he was saying, either, but he figured that if she'd like being talked to once upon a time, maybe she did now—and if she didn't, it wasn't really upsetting her too much.

"You're probably tired because you've had a hell of a day, right? I mean—the whole gettin' born thing's gotta be rough. Now you can stretch out, though. You couldn't do that before. Not all the way. I remember when you used to try to stretch out and it would look like you was givin' your Mama hell. I could see you pushin' against her like you would bust right outta her skin. It looked like some scary ass shit, sometimes. I ain't gonna lie. Looked like you had to be hurtin' her. She tolerated it, though. Said she liked it. Said it meant you were big, and strong, and coming. You're not real big, but you do look pretty strong. And you're here now, so…you got that part covered."

She squirmed a little. She stretched her body, perhaps thanks to his suggestion. And then she screwed her face up and, slowly, Daryl watched as the screwed up little face seemed to shatter into the first hiccupping cries.

The soft little cries—like threats—amused Daryl. He plucked a pacifier from the basket on the little table next to his chair and poked the nipple into her mouth.

"Here," he said, "put'cha plug in."

For a minute, she tried to spit it out. She pushed her tongue against it and tried to push it right back at Daryl. He held it, though, in place. After a second, she seemed to accept it. Then she relaxed in his arm and she sucked it. It looked large for her face, but she seemed satisfied. Daryl watched it, practically hypnotized, as it moved with her sucking. She peered at him from around her pacifier, with eyes a little wider open than before.

"You like suckin' it?" Daryl asked. She didn't answer, of course, but he didn't expect her to. She blinked—or at least he assumed she was blinking—and her eyes seemed to get stuck closed for a second before she forced them open again. "You're a sleepy thing…but I get it. You need like a lot of sleep to grow, and you got a lot of growin' to do. I know you're probably hungry. I know your Mama already let you get a taste of what she's got for you—what she's gonna make up for you, special, to eat. You might even be pissed off that you ain't got that now, but listen to me, we gotta let her sleep OK? Just a little bit. Then she can feed you and sleep some more, but we gotta let her just get a lil' bit of sleep. I don't want her gettin' weak, you know? And I don't want her gettin' sick or nothing. Neither do you. Because then it would just be me an' you, and I won't make none of what she give you to eat…so we'd be doin' pretty bad. Plus—I mean, she's your Mama. You want her around. And I want her around because she's my wife."

Daryl stopped and smiled to himself. He was exhausted. He could feel the heaviness in all his muscles—the desire to sleep. He knew that it came from peace. Overwhelming and complete peace. He'd never felt that kind of all-encompassing peace before. There was always something else to worry about. Right this moment, there was nothing to worry about. Everything was perfect. He almost felt dizzy from the thought of it.

The baby girl in his arms clearly liked being talked to. She'd maintained that memory from her life before birth. She expressed it by letting out some whining sounds around her pacifier as a warning.

"Shhhh," Daryl said, laughing to himself. He rocked her. "Listen—you gotta listen to me. You listenin'? I'ma do whatever you want me to do. Whatever you need me to do, OK? I'ma take such good care of you. But your Mama? She is, too. And—I'ma tell you a secret, OK? Your Mama—she's real happy you're here. I mean, I'm happy you're here, but…Mama happy is a different kinda happy. And your Mama ain't had it easy, but I'll tell you all that later. She's gonna be wantin' to love on you like you can't even imagine, OK? And you need to just—let her. It's good for her. Good for you. All that lovin' is just gonna help you grow. It'll make you stronger and bigger—all of that. You gonna like it. I'm just tellin' you this so you understand, OK, that if you don't see me all the time and all? If I'm just stealin' you when she's gotta sleep some, it ain't nothin' against you, OK? And I'ma be wishin' that I was holdin' you and stuff like that, but…we gotta let her love on you all she wants."

She creased her brows at him. She was probably considering crying again. The rubber nipple was hardly going to hold her long. Daryl could only imagine that it was a poor substitute for the real thing—he'd been fond of sucking the real thing, after all, and he couldn't imagine the rubber ones would be comparable in the least—and it didn't produce anything for the baby to eat, which she'd already learned should come from her sucking.

Daryl shushed her and rocked her gently. He reached his finger up and smoothed it carefully across the soft skin of her forehead. His gentle brushing seemed to soothe her, because she took up sucking again and closed her eyes.

Daryl smiled to himself. He spoke softly to the baby that he was sure was still awake, despite her closed eyes and relaxed features.

"Let's just let her sleep for a little bit longer. And let me just steal a couple more minutes to love on you for the very first time, OK?"


End file.
